The Assassin and Genevieve
by StealthyStileto
Summary: Destitute and struggling to survive (1500s Italy), Genevieve is only trying to look after her sick mother. A quick brush with terror changes her entire life's trajectory. How does one woman cripple the Brotherhood's recruiting sector? (Slight revamp and continuation) Suggestions and comments welcome (I fixed Chapter 13, which was actually missing - enjoy!)
1. Chapter 1

Genevieve walked down the cobblestone road and clutched her leather bag to herself. She had donned a plain bonnet and a long coat deliberately to avoid drawing attention to the fact that she was a woman travelling alone. She wasn't sure if the bonnet was a good idea.

It was dark.

The town was damp, black and cold and Genevieve kept her eyes mainly on the road. She had heard of stabbings, rapings, killings and other ungodly acts in the town when she went to the markets on Saturday. Occasionally she would spy a flicker of movement off to the sides. She registered what it was that stirred the night without giving any sign of doing so. Her footsteps and her breath sounded like sonorous horns in the night to her. However, if she listened closely, the other sounds that dominated the night were much more frightening. A creak here, something crashing there, a cough or quickened footsteps… Genevieve wished with all her heart to be at home, in front of her warm stove and reading a book. _Dear Lord, stay with me and give me strength and courage,_ she prayed silently.

Getting through the decent suburbs was fairly easy. Anyone who had any stature in life would not be out of doors at this late hour. They had street lamps and the buildings looked less threatening.

It wasn't until she had to pass through the outer suburbs that her problems really started. There were stray dogs, uneven roads, no lighting, and shadowy corners. This was where all the bad things about the town were. In resolve, she quickened her pace and lengthened her prayers and continued on into the darkness. There was no way that she wasn't going to get this medicine to her mother before morning.

After another hour of blessed loneliness, a man stopped her. "Well," he said in a cold voice, "Look whose wondering the streets all alone." Genevieve ignored the man, standing in her way in his dirty pants and shoes. That's all she wanted to see of him as she made to go around him but another man blocked her way. Turning, she saw there were two more of them behind her.

"Please, my mother is ill and I must be home to take care of her," she said, clutching her leather bag closer to her. But her words fell onto deaf ears and she was grabbed from behind. Crying out and screaming, someone shoved a hand over her mouth that smelled like dirt and stale beer. Things happened fast, they picked her up, struggling and wriggling, and carried her into the tiny sidestreet. She dropped her bag in favour of putting up a fight. But flail, kick, bite and scratch as she might, the four grown men were too strong for her lithe feeble arms. They gagged her with a piece of material and tore off coat.

The dress she wore was her Sunday best, a pretty long blue skirt, pattered with red roses on the top with long sleeves to hide her chest and arms. It was patchy and worn in places and was easy to tear by the men. They laughed as she resisted and used a torn part of her skirt to tie her hands behind her back. She wasn't listening to what they were saying in between the crude animal noises they were making. Constantly, she could feel their hands on her body and she would kick with everything she had. One foot hit its mark and she heard a pained howl emit from one of them. He retaliated with a vicious backhand.

Tears sprang from her eyes.

A kerosene torch was lit and their faces were revealed to her. Dirty, grizzly, unkempt faces with hungry eyes with ugly mouths pulled into scowls. The man she kicked issued her another backhand and she kicked out again, only to receive a blow again. Breathing hard through the gag that tasted like oil and mud, she faced her attackers bravely.

The man standing behind her held her steady as another man yielded a knife. She stopped struggling as she caught in the sight of the horrible sharp blade and wondered if this would be her last memory.

He pressed the cold blade threateningly against her cheek and drew a little blood., "That's better lass. Don't struggle and we won't hurt you." At that moment, she decided that even though her mother still needed her, and she was only young, she was not afraid to die. The flat of the blade slid down her neck and across her chest and underneath the collar of her dress… She could be killed and she accepted that, but to be humiliated and to have her most sacred gift stolen from her from these apes was not in her plans. Wildly, she kicked out again but missed her mark and by pure luck corked the man's leg instead. He went down, swearing but there was other movement unsolicited by the crude men.

In the shadows, just behind them, something moved stealthily and killed each man one by one. In her struggle, Genevieve could not catch a proper sight of who it was or how. It all happened so quickly. A blade flew out of the darkness and struck her closest captor in his throat before he could properly hide behind her. He went down with a choked cry, grasping his throat and feeling the knife as blood gurgled out of his mouth.

Genevieve sat down and pulled her tied hands underneath her bum and around her legs. She untied the gag and spat out the taste of it. The torch had somehow managed to escape unscathed and the death it shed its light upon shocked Genevieve. She stood up and wondered at the men who were once her abductors strewn on the ground like discarded dolls.

They were now simply dead men.

A figure stepped into the light. He was tall but that was all Genevieve could give as a description of the man himself. He wore a white hood that shielded his face and leather boots that didn't make a sound. The angle of the light didn't reveal his face either. The pattern on his cloak was red and black but indescribable otherwise. It seemed to be a symbol of something. And leather, lots of leather criss-crossed his torso. He came closer, a knife in his hand, dripping blood.

She was not afraid. However, she did not presume that the mystery man was there to rescue her either. Perhaps he would kill her too.

He cut off the bondage that tied her hands and threw the cloth away. He then passed her cloak to her and her bonnet. She put them on in silence, watching him. He picked up her leather bag and passed it to her as well.

As if broken out of a trance, she frantically looked through the bag to find the medicine. She found it at the bottom, all over the bottom. The bottle had broken and she cut her finger on it as she withdrew it from the bag.

"Ow!"

Dismay filled her vision. Her ordeal was forgotten, she tossed the useless glass aside angrily.

The man drew a white cloth from a hidden pocket, removed a hand from a leather glove and held her chin as he gently wiped the blood from her cheek and then her finger.

"Go home," said the man, his voice deep and strangely comforting. He appeared focussed on her delicate fingers, holding them in his large hand.

"Thank you, but I cannot. I must go back and pick up medicine for my mother. What I had is now lost," she replied, holding back tears with her breath. What else was she to do?

"What money have you got?" asked the man after studying her. He finished wiping the blood from her finger and left the cloth in her hand, flecked with blood. It occurred to Genevieve that this was a shame. It was a beautifully embroidered handkerchief with a lovely letter F on it.

"None," she replied honestly and was sad that her hero had enquired into such personal matters.

"Then how would you buy more medicine with no money?

"I'm sure the chemist is a fair man and he will understand that I will pay him back as soon as I can."

"You trust people too much. He won't. And you'll be risking your honour and life again for no reason," the man replied. Genevieve avoided looking into the dark hood, feeling his eyes upon her. She spied the knife that had killed the man who held her from behind. As if reading her mind, her rescuer drew her attention back to him.

"Go home. Be careful. Take care of your mother. I will bring back the medicine to you before the dawn. Tell me what it is, where you got it from and where you live."

This kindness took Genevieve completely by surprise and she simply stared at the man before her. "But… why? Why help me more than you already have?"

"Which chemist and where do you live so that I can find you?" he repeated. She told what he needed to know, wondering at her luck, wondering if it was luck. She had to remind herself that if the gentleman didn't return, she would have to venture out again and find the medicine herself.

"But I have no money to pay you for the medicine or your trouble."

"We will settle that when I return," he passed the torch to her, "Go. Take care. You will see me again before the night is through." With one big hand, he gently turned her toward the road she had been taking before and she took a few hesitant steps.

Her mind reeled at the events of the last few minutes.

"But I don't know your…" she said turning to find herself alone with four dead bodies.

The hooded man had slipped away quieter than the wings of an owl.

She couldn't see far into the darkness beyond the light of the torch. The dead men's vacant eyes met hers and she felt a measure of sadness for them. The knife embedded in one of their necks stuck out. She pulled it from its nest in the dead man's throat, her curiosity piqued at the resistance it took to take it out. She wiped the blood on the lifeless shirt.

Genevieve did not know whether she could use it or not. Perhaps if she was brave enough to remove it, maybe she could find the courage to use it. She turned it over in her hands then tucked it into her leather bag.

With no other reason to stay where she was, and a silent prayer of thanks to the heavens, she set off down the road once again. It took her more than another few hours to walk all the way home. However, she did not meet any further trouble.

The episode replayed in her mind over and over again. The smell of the men, their hands on her body, the cold steel of the knife on her cheek, all these experiences were ones she would never forget.

And the mystery man, she would always remember him weather she saw him again or not. She had pocketed the handkerchief.

Her home was small with only 4 tiny rooms: the kitchen was the biggest, the sitting room had only two armchairs, the store room which served also as her sewing room and the bedroom, with only one bed crammed against the wall to allow space for a tallboy. As she opened the door, her mother called out weakly and she went through the kitchen into the small bedroom.

The candlelight flickered as she passed. Her mother, frail and small in the already small bed, lifted a hand to her daughter. She blinked, questioning with her eyes because it hurt to use her voice. Each time Genevieve saw her mother, it saddened her to remember her as this fragile shadow of the woman she had once been. Instead, Genevieve recalled her mother's earlier days before her sickness had stolen her lungs.

"I'm alright Mother," Genevieve cooed, smiling at her mother, "I couldn't get the medicine," her smile ran away quickly, "I'm sorry." Her mother shook her head slightly and gave Genevieve's arm a small squeeze. She tried her best to smile. Genevieve made her mother comfortable again after giving her a sip of water and read the bible to her until she fell asleep. It was her favourite book and it gave her hope.

On the days when she could speak, Genevieve's mother would say how she wished to be whisked away with the Lord into Heaven, to be released from this painful world and into the next wonderful one where there was no pain. Genevieve had read the entire bible to her mother at least 6 times and knew the stories well. She often prayed to God for the same thing, because it was her mother's wish and she hated seeing her mother in such pain.

"Why do you think he keeps me here?" her mother asked tearfully one day.

"Mother, if I knew, I would know a lot more than just that. I guess he still has use for you here," Genevieve had pondered her answer carefully before she replied and kissed her mother on the forehead, "And I will always take care of you while you are here."

Genevieve remained by her mother until she was in a deep sleep then stood and took the candle into the sitting room, where she read her favourite passage 'The Lord God is my strength; he will make my feet like the deer's feet, and He will make me walk on my high hills.' She flipped through the big old book to read random passages and tried to recall the stories behind them. Keeping her mind active prevented it from wondering to her rescuer and weather he would be back or not. She had thoughts to wait up all night for him but she soon fell asleep. The candle burned down a pool of wax and went out.


	2. Chapter 2

Someone clamped a hand over her mouth and she woke with a start. She scratched at the hand and tried to scream, struggling against whatever it was.

"Shhhhh," whispered a male voice, "If I let you go, promise not to scream?" She looked up fearfully but her fear subsided in the darkness as she saw the familiar white hood, the red and black pattern on the front of his clothes and all of the leather. She nodded and he let go. "I tried knocking but there was no answer and I didn't want to make too much noise, so I climbed in through the window," he explained quickly, standing and turning away. The curtains covering her only window in room blew in the cool night breeze.

Morning was not far off.

Genevieve fixed her hair, a little frantically, and made sure she was presentable before and following him into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry. I'll be honest," she said shyly, "I hadn't expected to see you again. Rescuing me was more than what I could've asked of you." She busied herself with breaking bread apart, cutting some pickled onion and some marinated cheese and putting them on a plate.

"You didn't ask anything of me. I offered," the mystery man replied. He stood like a sentinel, a little out of place in the cosy kitchen, watching her prepare the food.

"Then our chance meeting was in my favour and again, I am very grateful," she smiled at him and offered him the plate, "Please, eat. You must've had a long night."

The man hesitated, then his hand was on it's way to revealing his face. Genevieve could feel herself hold her breath in the balance. It seemed to take forever.

Then he took off his hood.

Blue eyes pierced her scrutinisingly from underneath a brown fringe. His clean face was turned down into a practised frown, or was it a scowl for the inconvenience she caused him? His chiselled appearance lent him closer to his thirties.

Genevieve did not have long to gape at her hero. From his pocket, he extracted two medicine bottles and the sight of them distracted her. He reached right across the table – which wasn't very far – and put them directly in front of her. "This should last you at least 2 months."

"I wish I could pay you but I don't have any money," she said straight away, wanting it to be clear that she did not intend to take them without knowing what the payment was. He picked up some bread, dipped it in the marinade and sat down at the table, not replying immediately, only ate in silence. His blue eyes were cast down in thought, gazing at the two bottles. Genevieve perceived this to be disappointment and she racked her brains trying to think of something she could offer the man.

After long minutes of silence, Genevieve was sweating.

"I haven't any jewellery, nothing of value. Otherwise, I'd gladly give them to you."

"You said you take care of your mother, but do you do anything else?"

"I'm a seamstress. I work in the dress shop around the corner."

"I will call upon you to make something for me. Will you do it?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," she said, a little put off. She was thinking something a little more immediate but did not give it too much thought.

"Do not waste time, give the medicine to your mother," he said finally, eyeing her carefully. His blue eyes were direct and suggested a 'not negotiable' warning. She studied the bottle and smelled it contents. It wasn't pleasant but then, if it took away pain, did that matter? She took a bottle into the bedroom. Her mother woke with a pained start but Genevieve put her at ease.

"The Lord has smiled upon us, Mother," she said gently as she pulled a chair close to the bed. She showed the bottle and unscrewed the lid. "This is going to take a little bit of the pain away." She poured the medicine onto a tablespoon and held her mother's head as she took it.

"How?" rasped her mother once she settled.

"We have been sent a Guardian Angel, Mother. Do you really wish to question the Lord on such good fortune? He has brought us enough medicine to last two months! Please, don't worry Mother. Everything will be alright."

She waited with her mother until the old woman fell back asleep then ventured back out to the kitchen. The plate was empty and so was the room. Disenchanted, she cleared the plate away and wondered when she would see him again.

Despite the frantic events of that night, life returned as it always had with one major difference: Her mother was able to spend more time out of bed. Spindly legs held her up as she painfully limped around the small kitchen and collapsed proudly onto a chair. In this triumphant state was how Genevieve had found her mother some afternoons after working at the tailors.

She was able to pick up more work at the tailors because her mother could manage by herself. More coin in Genevieve's pocket meant more money to spend and she would find herself down the markets eyeing the more expensive grains and exotic fruits.

"Genevieve! When are you going to marry me?" Arlo called as she walked past his vase and mat stores. He was a delightfully chirpy man, a few years her senior and someone she would not consider marrying in a million years. He was a trader, looking only to make a profit and made advances to anything wearing a skirt. Italian men, Genevieve knew, were the cheekiest beings on the planet. If they could get away with murder, their mothers would let them.

"I don't know Arlo, when are you going to stop calling out to every lady in the market?" she replied, amiably.

"Oh, it is only you who I call out to. No one else has my eye," he said, with a wide smile, his hands out to her invitingly.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Come now. You stand there, unmarried and beautiful. It is a sin for me not to ask!"

She made no response as she threw a smile over her shoulder and sauntered off, looking for more vegetables. The last thing she needed was a vase, a mat or pity from anyone. She worked for her coin, managed herself and took care of her mother. If anyone thought they were doing her a favour by marrying her, they were mistaken.

"You will change your mind one day!" Arlo called to her back. She didn't bother responding. She thought to herself, _No I will not_.

She always imagined that she would marry a man with a more wholesome trade: a builder, or a farmer, someone who knew how to use their hands as well as their brains. A creator of marvellous things, not a sly fox trying to get the better of a situation. Businessmen troubled her as they often said one thing and thought another. How was a woman meant to know what such a man wanted?

But marriage was a long way off for her and it was impossible to meet anyone, now that she could not attend church anymore. The priest serviced Genevieve and her mother at home for a few coin. Her low status meant that her options were limited. Who would want to marry a peasant? Genevieve's only chances were to gain employment in a rich family's home as a servant, if she weren't to marry. She frowned – this was not a desirable option either. While her room and board would be taken care of and cleaning and cooking and child-minding would occupy her time, she was afraid that she would be targeted for... other duties by the man of the household.

In the town, life was amplified by the sheer number of humans who lived there. Anonymity and notoriety were dependant on who knew you. If a thief was found, they were tied to a stake in the main square and common folk could goad them and throw rotten vegetables at them. If a woman went to church unattended by a chaperone, whispers rippled up and down the aisles almost drowning out the priest's sermon and her maidenhood was questioned. Either you were no one, a ghost in the crowd or you were the centre of it all, the main actress weather the attention was wanted or not.

Genevieve tried to be the ghost. Anonymity was her friend. She risked herself by wondering the markets alone but she had no choice. With few reliable friends and few coins to spare, she timed her market visits for early in the morning and made sure she was home by mid-morning. She made sure she was away to the tailor's at odd times, very early, and she never took the same route home in a two week turnaround. There were real risks that she had to carefully consider. Lest she be killed, or worse…

There was a knock on the door. Genevieve opened it to the familiar figure and she stepped aside for him to come in. He stood there in the foggy morning like the mist itself. His clothes were the same, his hood was the same and she could not see his face.

"I was wondering when I'd see you again," she said to him.

"Counting down the days?" Flirting? This was not what she expected.

"I don't like being in debt," she replied smiling. Visitors were few at the tiny house but she didn't tell him that. He smelled of manly sweat.

"I need to ask you for my favour," he said.

"Of course. I will do whatever you ask," she replied and sat down at her kitchen table, inviting him to do the same. He didn't reveal his face this time, even though Genevieve wished he would. She wanted to see his face again. Was it as handsome as she remembered? He pulled out a garment coloured white and red.

"I need this to be made into a hood, similar to the one that I am wearing." She took the material from him. It was strong and a little rough.

"With the red lining as well?" she asked, studying his hood.

"No something different but not too flamboyant," he seemed to freeze as she drew closer, running her hand over the design. "Will you do it? I will leave you one of my other shirts so the size will be right."

Genevieve picked up the shirt and felt the texture in her hands. His old shirt was cut in places. Rips would leave jagged marks on the fabric but these were clean cuts like from a knife. She did not enquire about them, it was not her business. She lay them out on the table and pondered her line of attack.

"I will do it. It will only take the day. You are welcome to stay here if you like."

"No I must leave. How is your mother?"

"She sleeps a lot better now. She also walks around the kitchen as well," Genevieve smiled and directed his attention to the chair, "In the afternoons I find her sitting exhausted but content right where you are now. A glorious smile on her face."

"I'm glad to hear it," she couldn't see his face but she imagined his smile, "I will return late this afternoon for the garment." Genevieve nodded and watched as he left, closing the door behind him.

She waited a few minutes then picked up his old shirt and smelled it. The manly sweat lingered on the cloth. The last time she smelled such a man was her father and she did not miss him very much.

Not the mental image she wanted to lay over the one she had of this man.

She set to work straight away, placing the old shirt on the table and the new material. As she worked, she contemplated the design for around the hood. She had an idea and went looking for gold scraps that she had in her material drawer. She worked away at her sewing machine for most of the day.

Just going on dusk, as she was preparing dinner for her mother, he returned. This time he removed his hood and smiled at her a little. She smiled a little back and waited as he inspected her work. He examined the gold border approvingly as she examined his face covertly. He put a small bag of coins on the table.

"Oh please!" she protested straight away, "You don't need to pay me. It was a favour I owed you. In fact, you'll insult me if you do," she said trying to hand it back to him. He refused to take it, smirking at her attempts and grabbed her hands, holding them in his. He spoke directly to her eyes, stopping her just by looking at her.

"This is nothing. I'll be offended if you don't take it," he replied sycophantically. Taken by his directness, she froze and wondered why. His eyes flickered past her briefly. "I'll be watching out for you," he said quietly to her with a surprisingly serious face. She wondered at his fleeting change in mood. Before she could protest or ask what he meant, he bid her a good night and left, closing the door behind him.

Back to cooking, Genevieve felt surreal yet excited, content and yet cautious. She attempted to push all these thoughts from her mind and fed her mother with what she hoped was not pre-occupied attention. Her mother was too old to notice anything other than to be grateful for the food she was receiving. They prayed together and read the bible, but all these things felt like clockwork, automatic.

It would be weeks before she caught sight of him again. But she was sure she did see him. Several times. She would be walking through the markets like she usually did and she would see him mirroring her on the other side of the stalls. When she rushed over to say hello, he vanished into thin air.

Or she would be on her way to the tailor's and she'd swear she'd seen him amidst the crowd, walking like a shadow, blending in with them. At least, she imagined it to be him…

Once, as she looked skyward to observe the weather, she thought saw him duck out of sight on one of the rooftops…


	3. Chapter 3

There was one prominent visit. He arrived after dinner, mysterious as always in his hood and array of weapons. Genevieve noted that some were missing. Without a word, she let him in. He was breathing hard, as though he'd been on the run. Tense, he invited himself to the table. She gave him water, cautiously, a little scared of the face she may discover if he removed his hood.

He didn't.

Sensing that now was not the time for questions, Genevieve warily organised the sitting room. Putting the two chairs together made something soft, if not the most comfortable place in the world. When she came back to him, he had rolled up his sleeve to reveal a vicious cut on his arm that he'd bandaged himself.

Immediately, she poured water into a bowl, collected rags and cleaned his deep gash. It was done by knife, sharp and clean, and needed stitching to pull the skin back together. She set her jaw for the grisly task and fetched her sewing box.

He did not remove his hood, keeping his face away from her's. She focused on her task. He did not speak. Neither did she. He didn't flinch and she didn't either as she stemmed the blood flow and stitched his skin back together.

He showed her the top of another wound, over his shoulder. This one was different, it was more serious than a gash, more of a stab wound. She reached for a leather strap to help him into a more comfortable position.

Suddenly he grabbed her hand. Frozen on the spot, Genevieve waited for whatever came next, feeling his steely stare spear her. He let her go after what seemed an eternity. He took off his hood and with it any last objection he had.

She untied the leather and laid the items carefully on the kitchen table.

A knife.

Two knifes.

Leather straps.

Round charges.

A strange contraption tied to the inside of his wrist.

She asked no questions, though she glanced at this face.

It was a clean slate. The sheer absence of emotion scared her but she did not have time to think on this too long.

There were more wounds hidden underneath his shirt. He revealed them to her wordlessly motioning which one he wanted attended to next. She worked without revealing the horror in her heart. There were times when she thought his gaze had softened but when she glanced up at him, it was just as steely and tough to decipher.

Finished finally after what felt like hours of careful concentration, she dropped her blood-stained hands into her lap and studied her work – and brazenly, studied the strong lines of the muscles on his chest, shoulders, stomach, and arms. They were dotted and crossed with various scars and nicks from past engagements.

She was aware that his eyes wandered over her as well and would usually feel shy. But she was oddly indifferent, knowing her hair had half fallen out of its bun and that her dress was tacky and ripped. Genevieve had earned the right not to care. His eyes captured hers and they sat gazing at each other solemnly in the flickering candlelight, a bowl of bloody water, rags, needle and thread on the table.

Wordlessly, she washed her hands, left him a candle, some food and retreated into her mother's room.

She lay next to her mother, unable to sleep. Thoughts of the mystery man filled her head, imaginings, daydreams and fantasies. She mentally shook herself to stop the onslaught of wanton lust. They only served to depress her.

The darkness screamed at her and she tried to listen past the deafening noise to hear the mystery man's breathing. Did he sleep without his hood or did he sleep fully dressed so that he could fly at a moment's notice?

She counted the shadows in her mother's room, counted the delayed breathing of her mother, inhale, exhale, counted the different hymns she could remember and counted and recalled the different stories from the bible among anything else she could think of counting. She even counted how many things she had counted.

But to no avail. She could not fall asleep and she could not shake that one question: _Was he still out there?_

After hours of sleeplessness, she crept from her mother's side. The night was cool and she tiptoed silently through the kitchen, blinking through the shards of moonlight that shone through the kitchen window.

There he was, the bible opened in his lap, sleeping with less noise than a whisper. If it weren't for that ghost whisper, Genevieve would've thought that the man was dead. He was fully dressed, as Genevieve had thought, his leathered feet up on the chair and head nestled onto his shoulder. She snuck forward but couldn't see his face in the hood.

Stretching as quietly as possible and imagining herself as a mouse, stealing cheese from underneath a cat's nose, she reached for the bible.

He grabbed her roughly and pushed her backwards. With a yelp, her hand flung out knocked the candle over which crashed to the floor and winked out. She stumbled but he didn't let her fall. Instead, he held her throat with one hand, the other drew a weapon. A flash of silver glinted on the inside of his wrist.

Her neck caved beneath his grip.

"It's me!" she rasped frantically, "It's me!" He stopped, breathing hard and let her go.

"What were you doing!?" he hissed, the hidden blade vanished inside his sleeve. She sank slowly to the floor her own heart beating somewhere in her throat. It choked her so she couldn't speak. She could barely breathe. Sucking in sweet air desperately, she coughed on all fours. His hands were on her shoulders and she sensed his face close by.

"Hey," he was saying in a strange tone of voice. He had pushed his hood back and she could see his face. It was full of concern. His strong jawline clenched, and his eyes sought her's urgently. She sat back against the doorway and grinned suddenly, despite her rushing, gushing heart.

"You scared me," she laughed softly at his surprised face.

"Are you alright?" he asked holding her hand, sitting on the floor of the doorway with her.

" _Si._ Are you?" she asked suddenly feigning solemnity, "If I'd reached over any further you'd be dead." Either her words, her laugh or her smile caught him off guard, she didn't know which, but he smiled back. A fully glorious summer's day of teeth glinted at her in the darkness. He laughed too, then winced in pain.

"Yes, it is only by luck that I still have my head on my shoulders," he teased, "Praise the Lord." They sat there stifling their relieved laughter as much as possible. Genevieve was glad to have closed her mother's door. Her ears listened for any movement from the bedroom that indicated that her mother had woken up. Thankfully, there was no sound.

"Don't laugh too much, you'll pull the stitching," she admonished lightly, inspecting the arm that held her hand carefully. It had bled through the night. She undid the bandage to look closely in the low light and was pleased when the stitching appeared to be intact and a scab had begun to form.

"This is highly unusual," he said as she gathered fresh linen to wrap his arm in. He sighed, "I had not planned to stop here." Still, she didn't ask how he had come to be in this state. She was sure she didn't want to know.

"It has occurred to me that I don't know your name," he continued as she sat back down and tended his arm, "A poor oversight on my behalf. I am Fiero." Finally, a name to suit the face that haunted her fantasies.

"Genevieve. I am glad that you came to me for help, Fiero," she said, feeling how his name rolled nicely.

"Me too, Genevieve." Genevieve hoped he couldn't see her blush.

"What passage were you reading?" She asked. Fiero looked idly at the discarded Bible, without a desire to pick it up.

"There wasn't anything that spoke to me."

"Oh, you're a sceptic?"

"I am." This disappointed Genevieve slightly, though she couldn't tell why. She knew plenty bad men who claimed to follow the Lord. Could there be good men who didn't follow the Lord?

"How long will you stay?"

"No, not past sunrise."

"Then you must rest," she said decisively, standing up. He winced as she helped him up. He squeezed her hands.

"Don't go sneaking up on sleeping people," he told her.

"Don't be sleeping next time," she teased.

Too much.

Fiero didn't reply.

Genevieve mumbled a suddenly shy goodnight after picking up the candle. She closed the door to her mother's room, peeking through the gap at Fiero's figure until it closed in it's entirety. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, wondering no longer about her mystery man.

By morning he was gone. There was only the bloodied rags and water to indicate his visit. Genevieve cleared these away before her mother woke up.

After that night, Fiero visited more often. Things would magically appear at intervals. Cheese and milk were left on the sink. Flowers would be placed on her table. Material on her sewing machine. There would be extra coin in the jar she stashed away. Medicine hidden in the cutlery drawer. Gloves and socks for her mother on the chair. A brooch on the sill.

This went on for months.

It was all Genevieve could ask for.


	4. Chapter 4

Genevieve walked with her head bowed. Today was a difficult day at the tailor's. Fussy customers wanted their garments just so and Genevieve took the fall when things weren't right. She had to fix up other seamstress' silly mistakes. She had sized one woman three times at her insistence! Three times she wrote the numbers down for the woman to inspect. It wasn't Genevieve's fault she was a rather large woman. The customer eyed her with mistrustfully sharp eyes as she silently worked. As though Genevieve would slyly extend her measurements three inches if given half a chance! Pulling out this material or that material because this one was too bright, that one too girlish or this other one too dull. Genevieve only found reprieve when the customer had left, reiterating that she'd be back in a weeks time to pick up the dress.

Her table was usually her haven as she measured and cut fabric, engrossed with the task at hand. Not today though. The other girls could barely organise themselves! Asking Genevieve the most basic of questions... They were seamstresses making dresses, not Michaelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel!

A headache loomed behind Genevieve's eyes. She stopped at the fountain around the corner from home to drink and wash her face. She sat down for a few minutes and watched the busy _piazza_. People milled about in every which direction. Horses clopped past, duly following their humans and dogs scavenged, shying from the odd boot thrown their way.

This place was far removed from where she grew up. The town choked with people and animals and smells and things. Yes it was colourful with purples melting into pink, blues melting into green and yellow merging through orange to melt into red. These colours adorned the town and hid the stark grey and brown sameness of the buildings. She wished she could see paddocks of green with livestock happily grazing. And trees! Far as the eye could see towards the mountains. It was a shame she needed this shallow, forsaken place.

She would leave in a heartbeat if given half the chance.

Genevieve opened the door, stepped in and closed it, heaving a huge sigh – too quick to take it back.

" _Ciao,_ Genevieve." Fiero sat at the kitchen table with her mother. She blinked at the smirk on her mother's face. Her wizened eyes spoke of mirth and mischief.

And Fiero. He looked quite content. There was no hood today, no weapons. His clothes were plain but expensive. His expression was calm.

" _Ciao_?" Genevieve replied giving her mother a quizzical expression, "Mother, you've found some company. I hope Fiero has been agreeable for you," she went over and kissed her on the cheek with a smile. While Genevieve and Fiero hadn't had time to discuss disclosure to the older woman, Genevieve did not pretend ignorance now. Her mother took hold of her and whispered.

" _Lui è buono_."

" _Si,_ mother, he is."

" _Egli è per voi_."

" _Sei pazzo._ No. Don't be silly," Genevieve protested, embarrassed, flushing red. It has been a long time since her mother embarrassed her. Her mother laughed once, joyfully and clapped her hands, nodding. Her work as a mother was done. Genevieve darted a furtive look at Fiero who was smirking.

"It seems I have your mother's approval," he said imperiously.

"Whatever you told her, it must've been a lie," she replied but was unable to hide her own shy smile. She hadn't encountered this flirtations situation before in her own kitchen. Fiero was the only man who came and went and even his actions were questionable. "Mother, are you hungry?" She said to change the subject. But her mother, with struggling arms, raised herself from the table and shook her head. She reached across to Fiero who stood to grasp her hands. They shared a secret smile and she nodded at him. Then hobbled, unassisted to the bedroom.

Genevieve wished she wouldn't go. Especially not after creating such an awkward atmosphere. She wished her mother would stay and she wished she had the ability to talk to Fiero like she used to talk to her own daughter. She desperately wished he could see that her mother was not an old woman in that body of an old woman. Just as she saw her.

" _Buona sera, mia bella regazza,_ " the old woman whispered gently and the door closed.

"Can I offer you something to eat Fiero?" She asked Fiero presently.

"No, thank you. I came to see how you are," he replied.

"I am well. And you?" She said sitting down. Her headache had subsided to its own shadow. The stressors of the day abated to the background for now.

"Yes, well. It is good to finally meet your mother. She has a funny… spark," he told her with an odd twist of his hand.

"It comes from her heart and appears when there is cheek to give."

"She looks well."

"She does. What tall stories did you spin for her?"

"Just that we were friends and that I was keeping an eye on you. I think she has her own interpretation of our friendship." He leaned forward on the table and studied her, a little more seriously. She hoped he couldn't see her shyness. She hoped against everything that she wouldn't say the wrong thing and scare him away. "You look tired."

"It is nothing," she replied, flashing him what she hoped was a brave smile, "Nothing I can't handle. Thank you for leaving us your special gifts."

"It is a shame I don't always get to see you when I come. There are often time constraints when I am here."

"Are you a man of leisure today?" Genevieve asked, perhaps a with more hope than she dared to let on. He paused, studying her before answering. His blue eyes scrutinised her and made her feel slightly uncomfortable. Perhaps she had overstepped.

He replied in the negative, but he had a few minutes before he had to leave. Which was odd, because then he enquired about Genevieve's past.

At the best of times, she did not talk about her past. Ever.

"We are from a small town up in the mountains, south from the town," Genevieve revealed hesitantly. For the sake of keeping him there, she would have to swallow whatever pride she had.

"And your father? Has he passed away?"

"Yes," she lied. The man who was her father was dead in her eyes. That was close enough.

"Come now Genevieve, we are just getting to know each other," Fiero smiled widely, seeing her discomfort and spread his hands non-threateningly.

"I'm sorry," she apologised with a smile, "It's just no one has asked about these things for a long time."

"I see they are a sore point and I'll leave them alone," Fiero intoned kindly. He smiled at her. From his pocket, he withdrew a piece of paper, "Here, I must leave but if you ever need me, write to this address and I'll get it within a week."

Fiero left once again.

Genevieve chided herself for her less than enthusiastic responses to his questions. How else were they going to get to know each other if they weren't asked? What did she think would happen? There was hope in his visits. The house felt lonely after he left.

It was not in her nature to worry about the future. Genevieve knew that she was managing and that sooner or later her mother would pass. She did not lie to herself. But when she was alone, she fantasised about her future without her mother. She dreamt of a big house and a loving husband and all sorts of animals to care for.

And children.

Her own children's pattering feet dancing circles around her. She would feed them until they fell into food-comas and give them all the things that they could possibly want. She wanted to live vicariously through them, experience their childhood by watching them and live contentedly in the knowledge that she could give them everything that she never had.

Genevieve would need a husband. And a good one at that.

But her prospects were slim while her mother was alive and even slimmer when she died. Single women were treated with suspicion. Without an attached family, she was a whore, a witch or a wench. Danger lurked from every societal point of view and she would likely become a prostitute if she didn't play her cards correctly.

She hoped to see more of Fiero.


	5. Chapter 5

The medicine ceased to work for Genevieve's mother. The older woman barely got out of bed and barely ate anything. She didn't move. Didn't ask for anything. Genevieve couldn't stay home from work to care for her properly.

Genevieve dreaded leaving in the morning.

She dreaded coming home in the afternoon.

For weeks Genevieve had nothing else on her mind. She neglected to go to work one morning. Figuring that she had been negative in her attentions to her mother recently, she bought some flowers from the market around the corner with her saved coin and bunched them together.

The morning was like any other. Blue sky peeked at her from between the rooftops and despite smelling foul, like a pig-pen, it was nice to be outside. On her return home, Geneveive gathered every last square inch of her happiness, plastered a smile onto her face and opened the bedroom door to wake her mother for the morning.

She opened the curtains and the window before seeing the bed and placed the flowers on the sill so they would be the first thing the old woman would see.

Genevieve turned, with her smile, only to find that her mother was not there.

All that remained was the inhibiting shell that had encased her mother's spirit these last few years. The frail body that held her mother looked peaceful lying in bed. The covers were drawn up to her chin and her hands rested on her chest, like an angel. The body expressed strong contentedness in eternal sleep.

Genevieve sat down and blinked tears down her face. There was nothing to be done. She was alone. She crossed herself and said a Hail Mary. It was the first prayer that came to her mind. Perhaps the Lord would have a better body for her mother in heaven.

The cool Autumn breeze through the window stirred her after a while. There was no telling how long she had sat there for but her eyes ached and she was sure that they were red from crying. Still, Genevieve couldn't care. She donned a cloak and was out the door once she realised what she had to do.

The way she went was as familiar to her as any path. The stones met her feet as she breathlessly cleared the ground. She drew the eyes of every person she passed, sucking in air and still half-crying. Her heart felt like it would burst from its cage and kill her.

No one stopped her. No one would stop a crazy running woman.

She saw the steeple before she saw the doorway. The cross at the point watched the square in front of the old building ominously. Homeless people sat in the square, curiously eyeing her as she passed but she paid them no heed.

Her legs propelled her up the stairs and into the dark, chilly, quiet of the church. Forgetting to bless herself and forgetting to gather a candle, she tore down between the pews and threw herself at the feet of the white clothed priest who was addressing other people.

Exhausted she lay there, sobbing and incoherently trying to say that her mother was dead.

"Ah child, what has happened?" he asked, learning down to gather her up. Other hands helped and she was put into the front pew.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned," Genevieve sobbed irrationally, "My mother died. I wasn't there for her in her last moments! She didn't receive her last rites! Will she still go to heaven?"

"Hush child," the priest told her sternly. She sucked in a shaky breath and held it. This priest was not one she knew. His chubby face wobbled when he spoke and he peered at her with beady black eyes. "Where is your offering?"

"I spent my last coin on f-flowers th-this morning!" she whispered, sniffing uncontrollably. How selfish of her to think only of happiness when her mother needed her most! The priest gave her a most unapproving look before sauntering away to the room behind the altar. Genevieve's eyes glanced up at the gigantic cross hanging on the wall. Jesus judged her with his sad eyes, judged her to be unworthy and by extension, her mother too. He judged her as hung from that cross, bearing all the sins of her past and now this one too. Was there no end to his suffering?

Even more miserable than when she was in the room with her dead mother, Genevieve occasionally jerked involuntarily from the intensity of her overwhelming grief.

She was made to wait until late that afternoon. Such was the way with poor people. The priest and his carriage followed her back to her house. She was not permitted to ride in the carriage with him. Numbly, she walked the street back to the tiny house. The clop clop of the horse following gave her a small measure of comfort as the beast took everything in his stride. He was a small pony but his clear eyes and forward swept ears meant he had seen it all and nothing would surprise him now.

Genevieve waited in the kitchen for the priest to give her mother her rites, and watched with unseeing eyes as they wrapped the old woman into one of the bed sheets and loaded her into the back of the carriage.

The burial was a blur. Genevieve's mother occupied a small patch of ground within the church yard, thankfully. Her grave was unmarked, amongst countless other unmarked graves. Genevieve couldn't afford a tombstone. She laid the flowers on top of the dirt pile. Said her last goodbyes. And put one foot in front of the other to find home once again. It was dark already.

The tiny house suddenly felt foreign when Genevieve returned. She sat in the dark kitchen exhausted from standing by and watching the proceedings. It was good that she had no one to care for but herself. She wasn't hungry and so she didn't make anything to eat.

She also had no one to share her sad news with. Now she wished for Fiero and pulled the parchment with his address from her drawer. The handwriting was neat and curly. The ink seeped into the parchment but it was quality parchment and hadn't leaked all the way through.

The walls were cavernous and claustrophobic at different intervals.

But either way, it was so empty.

Genevieve surprised herself in the coming days. The day after her mother passed, she couldn't tell what she had done. Had she slept in that bed or in the sitting room? Did she eat?

Her memory failed her.

She had woken up not two mornings after her mother had passed, in the bed that her mother had recently vacated. Like clock-work, she dressed herself, ate a morsel of bread and olive oil for breakfast and went to work at the tailors.

Her eyes were dry, her mind was clear and she had faith that she would be alright.

There was an angel in heaven now, watching over her.


	6. Chapter 6

Genevieve adjusted quickly to living alone. She only had herself to take care of. She always carried with her the knife she had pulled from the neck of her attacker all those months ago. The thought of the knife inevitably brought thoughts of Fiero. She eagerly awaited his next visit. There had been no sign of him for about month and every day that passed was a day closer to seeing him.

Genevieve was careful to frequent the markets early in the morning only and would only go from home to work and back again. She drew as little attention to herself as possible and kept locked inside her dark house at night.

Still, no Fiero.

She fantasised about their next conversation. Of course, she would be sad and remorseful about her mother passing but then she would steer the conversation towards the coin she had been saving and the work she was doing. Perhaps she'd ask him about his work. Yes, that would be appropriate. Would he ask about her plans for the future? Maybe she'd tell him that she desperately wanted to open her own tailors, if she could just get past the law that women didn't own property or run businesses. Would he help her? Genevieve desperately hoped that he was the kind of man who was kind and supportive of... well a nobody.

Days turned to weeks.

Another month brought news on parchment.

Parchment news was never good.

 _Genevieve, we have allowed you to stay at the premises while your mother was sick. With her death, we must end the lease. Please vacate the premises within two weeks._

The Landlord wanted her out. Genevieve stared at the words on the table in front of her. _I can handle this,_ she thought. She still had a job. She just needed to find somewhere to stay.

"Maria," Genevieve approached one of the older ladies at work. Genevieve knew her to have grown up children who have flown the nest.

" _Si._ What's do you need?"

"Maria, my Landlord wants his house back which means I must move out by the end of next week. Could I please stay with you until I find a permanent solution."

"Oh Genevieve, I'm sorry. I don't have enough space," Maria replied with a sympathetic smile. Then she went on with her work. Looking around the sewing room, she spied Bianca at her machine, pressing away with foot on the pedal.

"No, my mother-in-law will be moving in with us and she's a horrible woman! I'd much rather have you stay..."

"Our's is only one bedroom," replied Sylvie.

Genevieve went back to her sewing machine and sat down. She pretended to sift through some materials but her mind was reeling. These were the closest women to her and they couldn't help. She raked her brain for other options.

There wasn't enough coin to stay in a boarding house.

"Genevieve..."

Perhaps she could find some more work that had board included somewhere...

"Genevieve..."

A wealthy person's house perhaps? She might need to quit this job here but she would make it work...

"Genevieve!"

Basso, her boss, was glaring down at her. His moustache smiled up at her as his mouth frowned downwards.

" _Si, Signore_ ," she said, with a smile. Taken aback by her sudden reply he blinked angrily at her. "What can I help you with?"

"We have a young client awaiting your good eye," he told her, "Make sure that you are... present."

Genevieve nodded and stood, smoothing down her dress and followed her boss through to the vast lobby of the shop. It was lined with dresses that Genevieve and her colleagues had made. Examples of the types of dresses that they could make for their clientele.

The young lady stood proudly with her chin jutting out like a fashion statement. Genevieve suspected that this one was trouble the moment she laid eyes on her. However, she allowed herself room to be wrong. She did not get to choose her clients and she might as well give them the benefit of the doubt. This young lady had impeccable manners with well placed 'pleases' and 'thank yous'. She was having a new dress made for her and there was no reason for her to be difficult.

Genevieve saw the challenge in sewing girls' dresses. Less fabric meant less sewing time. But what time was made up in less sewing, was converted into skill, design and colour matching. Bright and colourful without commandeering the eye too much was difficult to balance. Her experience over the other seamstresses meant that she was given this client. Genevieve stood to the side and wondered how long she might have to sew it together.

"Oranges and green, please," the young lady declared.

"Lovely, in pattern or block colour?" Asked Basso.

"Both, please."

Basso clicked at Genevieve. She hated that. She had ears and could put two and two together. She was not a dog. The material room was spacious and coded in colour. She picked out several of each colour, in different patterns and laid them out for the young lady to inspect. She stood again to the side.

Basso laid out a few of the chosen colours next to and on top of other colours. This was the ritual for all customers who wished complete control over most aspects when a dress was made for them. The girl's eyes boggled at the range. There were many options and combinations. Often, they would pick the brightest colours and would need to be persuaded to soften the combination with a gentle pattern or a softer colour to create contrast but this girl had an eye for what would work. She picked appropriately, despite the mother's insistence on a selection. The mother was an overbearing Baroness – a regular to many shops and a favourite of Basso. Genevieve was not involved much in politics but she suspected that Basso had an understanding with this Baroness.

The young lady picked out her favourite colours and declared that she wanted a simple dress, a green block colour under a pattern of orange and green flowers.

Next, Genevieve was to measure the girl. She asked her to stand on a wide box, for height convenience, and asked her to outstretch her arms. The Baroness and Basso were conversing quite earnestly, out of ear range and engrossed with each other. As Genevieve worked, she considered what designs the girl would want and how she could persuade her to make it easier for the seamstress diplomatically.

"Ouch!" The young girl yelped and shied. She shot dagger eyes at Genevieve, holding her arm as though she'd been hurt. "Mother! She pinched me!" Genevieve had done no such thing but it took her a second to recall her exact actions.

"Pardon, Miss, I did not!" She replied. Basso and the Baroness hurried over. Tears streaked down the girl's face and she sniffed dramatically.

"She did, she pinched me! It hurts Mother! Why did she do that!?" The girl continued to wail, sobbing. It was the Baroness' turn to shoot accusatory eyes toward Genevieve.

"How dare you!?" She bellowed.

"Pardon, _per favore_ , _Signora_. I did not pinch your daughter," Genevieve reiterated boldly, gathering her confidence like a skirt around her, "She shied from me."

"She pinched me so I would stand still!" The girl repeated, rubbing her arm.

"Genevieve, we do not treat people like that in this shop," Basso rounded on her angrily and took her roughly by the arm. Genevieve considered wrenching her arm out of his grasp but maybe that would be too much.

Instead, she pleaded him with her desperate eyes.

The Baroness eyed him too, with an arched brow, expectantly.

What was about to come dawned on Genevieve. Disbelief made her voice herself, " _Signore Basso_ , why would I treat her like that! I've never hurt a customer before! _Signore Basso, per favore!_ She is not being truthful!" It was the best she could do without calling the young lady an outright liar. But the young lady still had tears down her face and continued to look terrorised.

" _Signore_ , something must be done," The Baroness declared.

The other seamstresses watched mutely as Genevieve angrily stalked through to the backdoor of the tailor shop. They offered no words of condolences or sadness. They were thankful that it wasn't them. Storming home in frustration drew concerned looks through the _piazza._ Genevieve paid them no mind. _What now?_ Was all she could think.

As soon as she got home, she quilled a letter to Fiero.

 _Dear Fiero. You said to write to you if I needed anything. I need you now. Mother has passed and I've lost my job at the tailor's. I must leave our tiny house by the end of this week as the Landlord wishes to rent it to someone else. I have no idea where I am to go but I will be in the piazza nearest this house every Saturday until midday for the next four weeks, if I can manage. If my position worsens, I'll go south. To where, I don't know. Please come. Genevieve._

She dated it and sealed it in the addressed envelope. She checked the address twice to make sure that she had copied it correctly. Fetching the last coin she had saved from the jar, she took the sealed envelope to the traders in the _piazza._ It took a while, but she found one that was going to the town that the letter was addressed to, a hundred miles north. She asked him to take it for her and gave him the coin.

There was nothing she wished for more than to sit and wait for a response but there was work to do. Genevieve began to pack up the house. She went out in the street and attempted to sell bits and pieces of her mismatched furniture to no avail. No one wanted old worn out chairs or the stuffy old bed. Resolving to leave most of it at the house was the easiest decision to make.

There was no hope of her finding another house to live in, especially with no income so she went to the homeless shelter. Only to be turned away. Apparently they were full. Three more places told her that they were full as well and that she was not needy enough in turn. _Come back when you are maimed or old._ The Convent was in the next town south. She'll go there once she left the town.

Genevieve sewed a bag together out of the bedsheets so that she could put the possessions she could carry in it, ready to take at the end of the week. She also sewed a disguise together and stashed it in the bag.

There was no hope close by and she would need to take care of herself.

At least she still had the knife.


	7. Chapter 7

Before sunrise, she hid her small bag of sparse possessions somewhere in the town, behind some rocks in the park or in a nook behind a building. The town was peaceful at this time of the morning. The quiet hush made Genevieve feel she were the only soul alive in an uninhabited place. Her imagination took her for a ride as she wondered down deserted streets, slinking along like a cat despite its lack of humans. The town usually choked with people and their various occupations. What would she do if she was the only person left in the town? Would the buildings still reek of claustrophobia without human stench?

She made sure there was no one to see her and no one to follow her and walked until there were no more _piazzas_ to walk to. Starting at the one furthest from her base, she planned to alternate where she appeared to discourage anyone from remembering her.

Dawning rays triumphantly blessed the ground between the tall buildings that surrounded Genevieve. Homeless and hungry, she still considered this to be the best part of the day. There was not half as much to look forward to anymore though. Except the water fountains. They were a God-send.

Coming to one now in the early morning light, Genevieve witnessed the poor people emerging from the small places only they would know. Old haggard women limped to their post in the _piazza,_ near the fountain. They wore long black dresses against all eyes with long black veils that soaked up the suns' rays in the cooling months. They knelt and put their foreheads to the ground, their spindly arms outstretched with a simple wooden bowl clasped between both hands. Begging for food, coin, or anything.

These poor women followed Genevieve without moving from their chosen spots. It seemed now she was homeless herself, she noticed others who shared her position. Not just noticed them, but _saw_ them, _understood_ them. Few words were spoken but Genevieve could hear them.

There was no shaking the threat that she, too, might one day crawl out from her hole, put her head to the ground with her arms outstretched, begging for something to grant her another day in hell.

She knew she stood amongst them but strangely still felt separate. Still, even Genevieve, who belonged nowhere, looked down upon those feeble and stricken women. For now. Hope made all the difference.

The name of her hope was Fiero.

Genevieve snaked a finger underneath the scapula that she had roughly made and tugged. It was digging in under her chin and was slightly uncomfortable. How she longed for her sewing machine now! It would take her three minutes to unpick and adjust the fabric.

"Good morning, Sister!" called a young mother cheerfully, pulling her misbehaving child along.

"Good morning, Child," Genevieve replied with a smile she hoped reflected the heavenly faith she was supposed to impose. The wimple unbearably restricted her vision and she had to turn head and shoulders to look around properly. The habit she made was of a clunky material as well and coloured a hideous greyish brown. The woeful colour and style reflected the Nuns' proclamation of poverty. It would limit the instances of wandering eyes at least, despite Genevieve's discomfort.

"Sister! Please! Pray for me!" cried an older woman, waving her arms and approaching quickly from across the way. Genevieve often encountered these types of women who could not walk past a Nun without requesting a prayer of some description.

"Yes, Child," Genevieve smiled patiently and held out her hands, so the woman could take them, "What is troubling you?"

"My husband does not spend enough time at home," the woman moaned, clutching Genevieve's hands with the grip of Satan, "He does not spend time with me anymore! He barely smiles at me in the morning! Why won't he look me in the face? I do everything that I can to make his life stress-free at home and he doesn't appreciate it."

"Oh Child. The only face you need to gaze upon yours is the Lords. Remember that the Lord will always see the hard work you put into your home. It is not for the attention of others that we do good things, but for the Lord's attention. Only the Lord can grant us eternity and He is the only one we should aim to please."

"Yes, Sister, but a woman needs her husband to see her," the woman nodded but argued.

"I'm sorry, Child, my husband is the Lord. While I do not know if He smiles upon me all the time, I do my best to do the right thing."

"Of course, Sister, I'm sorry. Will you pray with me anyway?"

Genevieve obliged the woman with a Hail Mary and was graced with some bread. A small win that she nibbled away at as graciously as she could, attempting to appear thankful while resisting the animalistic urge to wolf it down as quickly as possible..

The first half of the day was spent dressed in her disguise, looking to assist people and hoping that food or coin would be the proffered payment. If her assistance was appreciated, the people would spare an apple here, or a carrot there, or if she was truly lucky, a full bowl of bolognese. She gave blessings to those who requested them and prayed with others who couldn't pass a nun without stopping to collectively praise the Lord. People were funny and superstitious, and they never ceased to surprise the imposter.

Genevieve would slink away during the day and find a change of clothes back at base, or from where she hid them earlier. The rest of the day was spent door-knocking at every store and stall she came across and telling them that she was available for work.

"I can sew. I've been doing it all my life, _Signore_..."

" _Signora_ , do you require a servant? I cook, clean and sew without complaint..."

"Yes I can take care of children – I am firm but fair..."

"My rates are minimal. If there is work to be done, I will do it..."

"I am a resourceful woman. I can gut and butcher almost any animal you put in front of me..."

"No, I don't know much about fish, but you can teach me. I am a quick keen learner..."

"I'm available right now. You tell me what you'd like me to do and you can consider it done..."

Every face that shook its head at her was one step closer to gaining employment. She relentlessly went back to places she had already been and she asked again a second, third even fourth time. Someone was bound to take her.

Weeks passed and she was more grateful than ever for the _piazza_ fountains that gave fresh, clean water. She would have died if not for the life-giving sustenance. She duly went back to the _piazza_ around the corner from the tiny house every Saturday and loitered until midday.

This was her last time in the _piazza._ If Fiero didn't show, she would have to move on and head south before the cold took her.

She gazed around the _piazza_ remembering her time here fondly. The people milled about in their painfully familiar way. She scanned for the familiar face but Fiero was not there. Any familiar face would have been welcome but even the vase trader had moved on from the dense marketplace. Her belly grumbled at the food and she hungrily eyed the wares that would comfort her, if only she had coin. Genevieve decided on survival and if that meant that she had to do it without Fiero's help, she would. There was no time for disappointment. She simply needed a distraction to grab a lovely red apple and tuck it into her pocket, then she would find her bag of clothes and get out of the town. Lots of people in the market made it easy to blend in and she scanned the crowd for a diversion.

A white hood caught her eye. A tall man walking away from her toward the edge of the market, dressed in the same attire as her hero. The same leather straps, sword and quiver with a crossbow on his back. He turned as if to check that he wasn't being followed.

Or to check that he _was_ being followed.

Genevieve's heart fluttered and her feet were moving before she knew it, trailing behind the man. He turned back and quickened his pace immediately, walking with more purpose. She followed like a dog drawn to a bone.

Through the markets and down the busy road, desperate legs propelled her after him. He suddenly turned down an alleyway and disappeared from her view. She walked over and followed.

There was no hint of him in the alleyway, only a few people walking toward her, deep in conversation. She passed them and looked down a small side street. She started down it, unsure. He seemed to have just disappeared.

Something grabbed her hand. She spun around and there he was. His familiar face was unhooded as he squeezed her hand. Dark eyes blinked from underneath a brown fringe and a smirk tugged the corner of his mouth.

"I thought I'd never see you again, Fiero," she sighed. The weight of everything she'd been doing, begging for work, stealing, hiding and tricking people caught up with her and she felt so, so tired. She was glad the she'd had the foresight to wash herself before coming this morning. She was fractionally cleaner than she had been in the last few weeks.

"I've been away, your letter only reached me a week ago. I came as soon as I could," he said concerned, "I went to your house about a month ago but it was deserted."

"It must've been soon after I vacated it."

"Where did you move to?"

"I'd rather not say."

He said nothing for some time, only studied her silently. His intense steady gaze made Genevieve uncomfortable. Doubt crossed her mind. Why hadn't she simply left the town? Did she really think she was that important to him? A pauper? Who was she kidding?

But he was here.

"I'm sorry. I've no one else to ask for help," she said quietly.

"What do you need?"

"A roof over my head. Work... "

"Haven't you found any work?"

The impertinent question annoyed Genevieve slightly. Would she be asking for work if she had found some?

"It's not for lack of looking," she replied sharply.

"Hm sorry," he let go of her hand and looked around them, down the alleyway. Genevieve felt she was inconveniencing him.

"If you can't help me, please say so. I'll work something out."

"What, on your own? No, I don't think so," he said, rather gallantly, "Don't worry. I will make arrangements for you. If all goes well, you will stay with my family."

Upon hearing this, Genevieve was grateful but a ghost of disappointment shadowed her gratitude. She had secretly been hoping to stay with him. His behaviour was strange and she daren't ask about what fight he'd been in that night he turned up with the cuts but she hadn't allowed herself to consider that this man may already be married and with children. She cursed herself for her selfish and childish thoughts. This gentleman probably had the most beautiful woman in the world as his wife who attended to his every whim and the most wonderfully behaved children, all with brown eyes like his, who didn't make fun by putting people out of work.

"Oh, please. I don't want to inconvenience anybody," she backtracked hurriedly.

"Do you want my help or not?"

She nodded.

"Do you know where the St James' Catholic Church is? Meet me there at dusk tonight." She nodded again. He gave her an apple with his smile and left her there.

With time to kill, she wandered the streets, looking to aid people and hoping for scraps of food. But even with intermittent distractions, the long minutes turned into long hours and the sun leisurely spanned the sky as though it would never set.

Fiero was waiting in the square in front of the St James' Church when Genevieve approached. It was nice to have a friendly face await her arrival and she felt like a queen. She merely smiled at him as he invited her inside the church. He led her up into the second floor pews and they sat, facing the altar. The church was designed in the Catholic style to radiate reverence and solemnity. Genevieve knew there was more gold flecked in the altar beneath the Holy Cross than she would ever dream to hold in her entire life. Fiero removed his hood presently revealing his face, relaxed now.

"I see this is a disguise. A Nun, very clever," he said with a small laugh, looking at the garments she held in her arm and her rosary. His laugh eased the situation for Genevieve a little and she smiled.

"Yes, all I have to do now is learn to disappear like you are so apt at doing then I'll be untouchable," she smiled at him, "Are we waiting for something?"

"Yes, for my brother. He runs an inn in an outlying town. He will take you in on the condition that you help wherever possible. I said to him that this would not be an issue for you and that you are willing to earn your keep." Genevieve's heart did small leaps for joy, however, this did not mean that he did not have his own family already. She clung to small hopes.

"Of course. I can't thank you enough. For everything."

"I owe you thanks as well," he gave her a small smile.

A man stomped up the stairs and came into view. Fiero stood and Genevieve did also as he approached. This man was a little shorter with hazel eyes but the same dark hair and a slightly more rounded face. The two men met as brothers do in company of a lady, they shook hands and nodded to each other.

"Brother this is Genevieve."

She curtseyed, "Please to meet you sir."

"Please, the pleasure is mine Genevieve. Call me Luca. My brother recommends that I hire you as a live in maid. This is most agreeable with me as we are always in need of good staff."

"Your brother is too kind. I'm appreciative of any work you give me."

"You will have a room to stay in and we will put you to work in the kitchen. I also hear that you are a very good seamstress."

"That's correct."

"Good. My wife needs a new dress but she is very busy with the kitchen and has no time to go out and buy new things. I'll pay you to do her this service," Genevieve merely inclined her head in agreement. Luca powered straight on. He was obviously used to leading conversations and controlling situations. "Brother, we must leave before the inn runs itself into the ground without me," he gave a hearty laugh and turned to go, waving Genevieve to follow him.

She paused at the top of the stairs to look back at Fiero. He hadn't disappeared yet and she considered asking him if she would see him again. His face was indecipherable and made Genevieve feel uncomfortable with her question, as though she shouldn't ask lest she didn't like the answer. He nodded at her and she smiled, gathering her skirt and hurrying down the stairs after Luca. She determinedly tried to put him from her mind.

There was a stage coach waiting for them at the front of the church. Luca helped her into it and sat down across from her. She felt his eyes upon her but could not tear her own from the church, searching for any sign of him. Any at all. But there was none.

As the coach pulled away, the Church turned out of her view and she was left with the old buildings and starry night to look at.

"No one knows what that man does but I have a feeling that you will see him again," Luca said knowingly. Genevieve smiled embarrassed and looked down at her hands in her lap.

"He had time to tell me what has happened to you. I'm sorry for your Mother's passing."

"Please, don't be. She was in a lot of pain. The Lord was good to take her when He did." Luca appraised her with a curious look and a nod of understanding.

"She was your only family?" Genevieve nodded. "And the way the landlord kicked you out."

"We owed him a lot of money. He was kind to let us stay there comfortably until at least my mother passed. How long have you had the inn?"

"For about 7 years now. It's very busy but don't worry about it until you've settled in."

"You are very kind to take me in."

"Don't thank me until you see how the place is run, my Dear," he said laughing. Immediately, she knew that he was a man to trust, honest and light-hearted. She smiled back and looked out the window again at the passing houses, knowing that the Lord was taking care of her and that He was watching.


	8. Chapter 8

Fitting in with Luca and his family was like fitting into a favourite dress. Luca Lombardi was a generous and fair boss. He asked her what she wanted to do – to which she replied that she liked to sew and cook. So he put her into the kitchen to cook four nights a week and on other days, she cleaned and he asked her to make whatever dresses his wife, Marcella, wanted. Marcella was a radiant woman who loved to talk and laugh. She had an elegant taste in clothing and could talk the ear off an elephant. Their two children were Stella and Giovanni. Children with kind attitudes and a love of life.

In return, Genevieve was offered every comfort she could possibly want. She had her own room on the third floor up from the kitchen. It was a spacious room, fully furnished and with four windows, offering views of the busy corner on which the Inn stood. The street below was wide and cobblestone. There was little dust to worry about from the passing traffic. She was allowed a wage after the cost of her board was taken out and it left her with enough coin to spend on things that she wanted.

She bought a new hairbrush, some material for new clothes and other things that she needed. Being a busy lady meant that she did not have much spare time. However, she was often sent into the markets to buy food for the kitchen.

She awoke in the morning and had a few hours spare before she was required in the kitchen. She met with the other cooks to discuss what they were cooking that day and to collect any last-minute items from the market. Lunch was cooked for the guests. The Lombardi's were flamboyant family who dined with their guests and created a friendly atmosphere. They always had things to talk about and stories to share. As soon as lunch had been cleared away, dinner was prepped for. Guests were given a smorgasbord of food to choose from.

Cleaning occurred on her off-kitchen days and she worked with a separate team.

Being in contact with so many people meant that Genevieve became a respected member at the Inn – she worked hard and got her jobs done with no complaint, she spoke only to communicate or to encourage those around her. She would not be drawn into cliches at the Inn, the kitchen-maids and cleaning-maids could not recruit her into their group but both respected her independence. Genevieve preferred not to mix entirely with these people, knowing that doing so would create a rift in the other group. She treated everyone equally and with respect and they gave her the space she needed.

Every now and again she was invited to dine with the Lombardi's. These nights were filled with laughter and joy and games and wine. She loved these nights.

Her spare time was spent in the book-room which housed books aplenty. Hours, often long into the night, Genevieve would perch up on a seat and pour over the Latin words depicting Greek mythology, how men sailed the seas using the stars and the different kinds of fabric from Istanbul. There were even books about the books in the Bible.

In the background of all these privileges that Genevieve had somehow gained, were her thoughts of Fiero. He hadn't returned yet and there was no word from the Lombardi's about him. Genevieve was too shy to ask. In her bed, attempting to fall asleep, she would allow thoughts of him to invade her mind. Alone in the dark, she conjured up an alter ego of herself: someone who had a proper family and florin to spare. She would have learnt the harpsichord, instead of training horses for her father, learnt to dance in the social way that the aristocracy do and engage in bureaucracy as much as her gender allowed. Suitors would line the streets with Fiero at the forefront, ready to court her at the failure of the first's notice. She didn't need the rest of them. Fiero was all she wanted.

A few weeks passed. It was late and she had been working on a dress for Marcella in the sewing room. Nothing stirred inside the Inn and she held the only candle. Stepping lightly past the kitchen and up the stairs, Genevieve didn't want to wake anyone else up. Feeling successful, she approached her door to find a light underneath it. She hadn't left a candle on.

Someone was in her room!

She blew out her own candle and sneaked up to the door. Carefully, she put her ear to the wood to see if she could hear anybody moving inside. All was still. She opened the door all the way, slowly, and observed the room before entering. Everything was in it's place, there was no one behind the door that had swung back flush on its hinges.

In the chair, by the window sat Fiero watching her be cautious. An amused expression plastered on his face. She smiled and sighed in relief.

"Wise to be so hesitant," he said as she entered and closed the door, "It is good to see you again."

"And you also, Fiero. I was beginning to wonder where you were," she said.

"I have been away on business," he said solemnly.

"Oh, business must be really good at the moment." He did not reply only let the conversation slip. Genevieve felt the easiness slide away with the conversation and was dismayed, doubting herself and her familiarity with such a man. Did she really think that he could be attracted to her?

And yet, he was here. In her room.

"How did you get in!?" she asked, a little incredulously, "I'm sure I would've heard of your arrival if you had come through the main entrance."

"I have my ways of getting around," Fiero replied mysteriously, "I have been keeping in contact with Luca. He said that you've fit in just nicely and highly commends your work ethic," he continued presently. Genevieve nodded.

"Yes, all has been delightfully well. I want for nothing and nothing more than what I offer is asked of me. Thank you for bringing me here."

Fiero nodded his approval and eyed her carefully from his seat. The amused expression had been chased away. She felt the weight of the gaze and wondered what lay behind it. She walked the room, putting things away, hastily then casually in turn as she felt his eyes watch her. Then came to sit on a chair close by him.

"To what do I owe this visit?" She asked pleasantly, forcing her eyes to be calm and fixing them upon the face of her hero.

"I came to see how you are," he said smiling, "You look so much better than when I had found you those weeks ago."

"Yes well, I can't thank you enough for finding me when you did. There's no telling where I might be now if you hadn't."

"Genevieve," he said, suddenly reaching forward and grabbing her hand, "You don't need to worry anymore. I'll take care of you." His hands were rough in her's and firm in their reassuring squeeze. She found it hard to look him in the eye, instead, gazing down at their hands in union. Was this how it all started?

And after he let go, her hand was immediately cold and lonely without his. She tore her eyes away from her hand and met his once more.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Now, you must stop thanking me! All I've done is pull strings and that's not even real work. Tell me about your work in the kitchen."

Elated that he wanted to talk, she told him snippets of her days these last few weeks, but there was not much to mention and soon she ran out of things to say. So she said, "Fiero, I don't know how to pay you back for rescuing me. What it is you want me to do, just say anything and I'll see that it's done." This he laughed at good naturedly.

"I don't doubt you. I'll call upon you when I need something," he reassured her, "For now, I should go." They both stood and Genevieve made herself look up at his face as he moved toward the window.

"Won't you see your brother and his family?" she asked, a little confused.

"No, I haven't got enough time. Maybe next time I come through," he said.

"When?"

He shrugged, "I don't know."

Genevieve couldn't do anything to stop from already feeling his absence but she brightened her smile and said, "Until then."

"Until then," Fiero returned her smile and used his gloves to take hold of the steel wire that connected her window to the window across the cobblestone road.

"Fiero... what are you doing?" she asked again, concern mounting as she put two and two together.

"Nothing," he said, casting a cavalier grin over his shoulder, and pushing out the window. Stifling a gasp, she rushed to the window to see his shadow gliding through the night and landing perfectly on the balcony across the way. Her heart pounded as she leaned out, peering into the night at the moonscaped silhouette that she knew to be Fiero. She couldn't see his face but he waved. "Goodnight Genevieve!" he called as softly as he could. He didn't wait for a reply as he slinked over his balcony railing and onto the roof of the building next door. Cresting it, he disappeared down the other side from Genevieve's view.

 _What a strange man_ , Genevieve thought affectionately as she sat herself in the window, wishing for the strange man to come back.


	9. Chapter 9

Genevieve giggled to herself as she stumbled up the stairs. She held onto the railing for dear life because each of her steps she misjudged badly and either tripped or staggered. Each step also made her burst into hysterical giggles. Which was ridiculous, there was nothing and no one around to laugh at. It didn't help her mode of transport.

Attempting to contain herself, she closed her mouth and paused to suck in deep breaths through her nose. The world was calm even if it seemed to be a spinning top with her at the centre.

She took a few successful steps.

And promptly burst into happy laughter again.

She sat down, glad for her lonesomeness. The echoes of pleasant shrieks from some of the women undercut by men's laughter floated up the stairs, reminding her of the lovely people she had met that night. She hadn't ever felt this exhilarated before. Noticing her odd feelings made Genevieve bashful in front of everyone else and she hastily made an exit. She agonisingly waited for the meal she had just eaten to sink in so that she could compose herself properly. It took roughly half an hour and she managed to pull herself up and continue minus the giggling spouts. Her head still swam a little and a crazy grin was plastered onto her face.

She felt sooooo good! The wine had gone down easily and loosened her mind a little. While she had not done so much talking, she had found every little detail of other people's stories hilarious. She briefly wondered if she would remember any of it in the morning. Heaving a sigh, she opened the door to her room and closed it, resting her head on the back. Her breath slowed and she giggled lightly to herself. What had become of her? Drunk as a skunk, if only her mother could see her now!

"Was it a good night?" a familiar voice asked. Failing her usual care with her belongings, she hadn't noted that her light was already on or Fiero in his usual chair. The sound of his voice brought a devilish grin to her face with a devilish thought.

"Yes, it was glorious fun," she replied as though unsurprised, turning with her devilish entourage, "Good food, good company…"

"Good wine too?" he asked standing. He was in his usual attire, the hood, the leather, the boots and the watchful brown eyes.

"How could you tell?" she tottered only slightly, in her opinion, as she proceeded to her dressing table, removing her earrings and loosening her braid.

"How could I not?" was his reply.

"Can you help me with this please?" she asked. Her corset was tied from her shoulder blades to the small of her back. Watching him like a hawk, she hoped for a hesitation but was disappointed. He moved purposefully, removing his leather gloves and tossing them to the table. Only when he stood right behind her and she gathered her hair to the front did she sense a pause in his hands. In the light, his face was unshadowed and his eyes flickered to the nape of her neck before focussing on his hands.

Genevieve didn't know from whence came the vixen that had flared up inside her. Her sudden confidence peppered her intuition. Slowly, his hands worked upwards, picking the string from the eyelets attentively. She waited patiently her eyes fixed upon his face, feeling with them for any flickering difference in him.

But it wasn't what she saw but what sound was missing that gave her the cue. He was holding his breath. As he reached the top, she rolled her head to the side, closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. Her hand tossed aside the constrictor garment carelessly, leaving her underdress on. The sleeve crept down her shoulder.

Enraptured, Fiero's eyes feasted on her mutely in the lamplight. She smiled, a shy but confident smile and she turned to face him.

"You're drunk," he told her knowingly, with a smile. Genevieve pushed past her own disappointment of being so blatantly found out.

"I am," she laughed.

"Have you been drunk before?" he asked.

"Just last week," she replied, "Luca and Marcella invited me down to dinner. So I know what I'm doing." She definitely did not know what she was doing.

"This is unbecoming of a woman," he chided, then sighed, "I guess it isn't your fault. My brother and sister-in-law don't know how to hold their class properly."

"They have enough class not to care," she countered, "Isn't that the point of being wealthy? To not have to care about what others think?"

"They draw unnecessary attention to themselves," he continued on his own track of thought, thankfully missing the note of bitterness that had crept into her tone. Genevieve was grateful. She didn't want him to think that she wasn't thankful for their generosity. But they were either so flippant with their wealth that they considered inviting their own servants to dine with them was a kindness only they could offer as wealthy people or they genuinely didn't care about the class divide. Genevieve was shocked by her own thoughts, she hadn't once considered the Lombardi's to be anything but genuine. Jealousy cast a shadow over her good mood. She needed to do something to change it.

She kissed Fiero. Once. Quickly. On the lips. His eyebrows soared in surprise and he froze. Coyly, she looked down and away. Apparently, she had rendered him speechless because he said nothing for a time.

"You're drunk," he repeated.

She sighed. Not what she wanted him to say. Not even what she wanted him to do. So she tried again. This time, reaching up to his face and kissing him softly, just brushing her lips over his. She could feel him kissing back this time and this encouraged her to press into him. Her hands toured his torso, feeling the alternation of fabric then leather, then brass buckles and fabric again.

Fiero pressed her against the dressing table, his hands pulled her against him, pressing fire into the places where they were. The exhilaration coursing through her body froze her. She accepted everything, her heart beating faster and faster. Her mind wondered what was next…

"No," Fiero said hastily, pushing himself from her.

Her heart despaired as he moved away but she reached out for his shoulder with a light hand. Fiero stopped. His mistake. His smile gave away how much he was enjoying this as she stepped into him and pressed her lips against his again. Again, his arms pulled her to him, again, he kissed her back passionately.

And again, he reluctantly resisted, pushing her away stately.

Her spirited Italian blood coursed through her veins, thick with wine and tangled with rejection. She stood tall, appraising him with fiery eyes. The curve of her mouth fell downward and her eyebrows furrowed in their seats over her eyes. Long brown hair cascaded down her shoulder flecked with flames, framing her temper. Surprised a second time, his eyes dared not leave her face.

"Why not?" She asked simply.

"You don't know what you are saying," he said cautiously.

"I do not offer in light heart," she continued passionately, not knowing from where this fire came from but going with it anyway. It felt good to be speaking her mind freely.

"How can you hand me your honour and innocence while not knowing who I am, what I do or where I go, Genevieve?" he asked.

"It has never occurred me to ask you because I trust you. I have only ever known kindness and thoughtfulness of you. If it weren't for you, I'd probably be dead. I have everything to offer you in gratitude," she replied, anger mounting at his questioning her. She was an adult and old enough to make her own decisions. No one else was going to do that for her.

"No," he said firmly and her heart plummeted as he faded.

"What is it?" she asked so softly even she could barely hear herself, "Are you already married?"

He sighed again, troubled, "No. It's... complicated." Fiero paused. He crossed the space between them in two steps and squeezed her shoulders, frowning into her face, "Very complicated." It was Genevieve's turn to sigh. Just her luck for things to be 'complicated' - whatever that meant.

He faded further. Genevieve barely registered how he'd moved from her side to the window so quickly. The room swam around her and she suddenly felt a little nauseous and tired. A hand tamed her hair disinterestedly and her head began to pound, Her moment of clarity fogged up with self-doubt and endless spinning. "I should go to bed," she whispered dejectedly. Fiero said 'goodnight' from somewhere across the room and was gone. Disappeared, as he was clearly so good at.

Swimming in her clouded mind, she couldn't tell how she got from the dressing table to the bed. She tucked herself into the blankets, semi-clothed.

Awaking in the morning was surprisingly difficult for her to manage. She would squint her eyes and look through the open curtains. The sunlight offended her eyes, as though it was shining directly onto her brain, and she'd turn away from it, hiding her head in her blankets. Hiding from more than just the light as she remembered the events of the previous night. Hiding her own embarrassment from the world. She had behaved appallingly! How could she expect Fiero to want her in the way that she wanted him? She was a lowly pauper! A servant! She would need to apologise as soon as she could. As soon as he came back. Whenever that would be.

The next month saw her put her head down further into her work and avoid spending time with the Lombardi's in case she let herself go and was drunk, once again, when Fiero came to visit. The hangover the next day had been enduringly agonising. Genevieve did not want to experience another one. She cooked, cleaned and sewed and declined all offers of entertainment, blaming her fear of the hangover to mask her true reason. Luca and Marcella teased her lightly but left her alone.

Fiero didn't come to see her. He did, however, go to see Luca and Marcella but somehow was always gone by the time Genevieve had caught wind of it. While this was not unusual for the man by any means, it wreaked havoc on Genevieve's nerves. Was he avoiding her? Would he ever want to see her again?


	10. Chapter 10

"Genevieve." Fiero was waiting for her in her room, after she had finished up in the kitchen for the night. Something was off. He wore his hood up and he had clearly been pacing the floor because he was moving when she walked in.

"Fiero, is everything alright," she asked, concern took over any self-conscious memory of their last meeting. Shock froze her in the doorway. She was unable to feel totally at ease, in case he was injured again. As much as she wanted to see his chest and shoulders, she didn't want to be distracted by cuts that needed sewing up.

"I've come to ask for a favour," he told her solemnly as he passed her to close the door himself. He approached carefully, taking off his hood to reveal a face worn-down by the day. His eyes were focused and mouth drawn in a straight line. There was no playfulness anywhere, not in his face, his attitude or stature.

"Ask anything," Genevieve replied confidently, refusing to allow Fiero's stilted and agitated state overcome her calm. She promised herself that she would be more composed the next time she saw Fiero. Now was her opportunity.

Fiero nodded and reached for her hand. His were rough but gentle as he pressed a brown token bag into it, the size of a handkerchief. Something chinked inside, like coin, before settling again.

"Genevieve, this is very important," he spoke directly to her face, not a foot away, "You must guard this with your life." Of course, she wanted to ask what it was but she resisted, instead, meeting his grave gaze with solemnity. She nodded.

"I'll come back for it, but you must keep it hidden in your room. Somewhere no one would think to look," he continued, letting her go. Again, she nodded, feeling the surprising weight of the bag as he dropped his support. His eyes were calculating again as he stared at her. It was almost as though he was going to take back his trust in her, and take back the bag. Genevieve even suspected a hint of jealously in his eyes. He frowned, evidently deciding against second-guessing his decision. "I must leave," he told her, squeezing her shoulders affectionately, "Remember, if it goes missing then your life is forfeit."

"I understand," she replied. As he walked to the window, a question occurred to her, "Fiero, when will you be back? How long will I have this for?"

"I'll be back within the month. Remember Genevieve..."

"Yes, Fiero, don't worry. I'll take care of it," she interrupted and gave what she hoped was a confident smile, "I'll be right here." The corner of his mouth tugged but didn't develop into his any of his usual smiles. He soared out the window and Genevieve drew her curtains against all the night's prying eyes.

The bag had a weight to it and without a second thought, she upturned it onto her bed. There was no way that she would guard something with her life without knowing what it was, though she saw the irony in accepting the challenge before she could find out.

There were three large discs inside with diameters larger than her palm but smaller than her fingers outstretched. They were solid and weighty, coloured gold and flecked with silver. One side was bare and subtly rough, like tight hessian. The embossed face had a red cross on it, even in each extension of its arm that thickened to twice the width of the middle. Genevieve traced her fingers over it. She hadn't seen anything like it before. Upon closer inspection, parts of the edges were a little worn. None of the three was shiny new. She couldn't guess how old these relics were.

Curious, Genevieve looked around her room thoughtfully. Her eyes landed on the perfect hiding spot and she got to work.

It was dark, one morning, when Genevieve was still asleep. She'd had an exhausting day of work, the day before, and didn't hear Fiero enter. Her blankets were drawn over her shoulder and she lay on her side, lightly snoring in the chilly air of her room.

Seeing she was asleep and hadn't noticed him, Fiero didn't immediately come over to her. His leathered shoes tip-toped around the room, looking, looking, looking. He quietly opened her dresser drawer and rummaged through. He pulled the dresser from the wall and felt in behind it. The sewing machine in the corner was new to its position there and he slowly inspected it too. He opened the drawers and tucked his hand in to feel the bottom of the tabletop. But there was nothing to be felt. The tall cupboard was next and he opened the door and used his hands to investigate every square inch of the dark enclosure. Still nothing. This went on for some time. Fiero pulled up her rugs and scrutinised the floorboards beneath. He examined her curtains, window frames and walls.

"Genevieve," he whispered, giving up and approaching the bed. Genevieve didn't stir. He sat down next to her, taking off his gloves and running a hand over her shoulder.

Genevieve flinched badly, cried out and scrambled away from him across the bed. Her hand flung out towards him. Fiero saw it coming and grabbed it, holding it steady. His eyes, more accustomed to the dark, saw the blade of the knife in her clenched fist. She yelped in surprised.

"Shhh, it's me," he scolded her, "Is that my knife?"

Her breath came fast as her eyes adjusted. She laughed, like she did when she scared him those months ago. Fiero considered this an odd reaction to terror but it was infectious and he had to smile.

"Thank God, it's you!" she whispered. She took a few more breaths, then, "Oh you're here for your items!"

"No," he said, still holding her fist, keeping her attention on him. His tone changed back to serious, "I only need to know where you hid them." He unfurled her fist and took the knife from her, threading it through one of his various leather belts, and let her go. She was going to hurt herself or someone with it.

She twisted where she sat and reached down between the mattress and the headboard of the bed. Using both hands, she felt around for a few minutes before extracting the token bag he had given her. Relief washed over him as he fingered the relics through the bag.

"Will you take them with you?" she asked after a while. He realised he had sat silent, thinking about the three large discs inside the bag.

"Not yet."

"You're checking up on me," she stated.

"Only because I care," he reassured her. She sat there in the dark next to him, her hair in disarray and her nightdress billowing from her shoulders. He reluctantly passed the discs back to her. "Keep them between your bed there just in case I need to find them and you're not here."

She made a movement with her head, a nod, he guessed. "Is everything alright?" Genevieve asked him.

"Yes, everything is fine," he replied distractedly as he stood again, "How about you?"

"There hasn't been a change here. Except it's getting colder," she babbled.

"Make sure you're interacting with Luca and Marcella," he interrupted, "They told me that your character has changed a little. They like sharing dinner with you. You should accept again. You need to stay constant. Just in case."

"Just in case of what."

"Anything. I'll be back, in another few weeks' time to pick the discs up," he told her, his anxiety had subsided and he needed to get back, "Take care of yourself." He knew he sounded a bit crazy to her but there was no way that anyone would know where the discs were. So he moved away from the bed, back to the window. He was gone before she could utter two words.


	11. Chapter 11

"More wine!" Marcella laughed. Genevieve had taken Fiero's suggestion and accepted the next invitation to a dinner. He had frightened the living daylights out of her a week and a half ago when he woke her up. At least she had hidden the discs well. He had seemed satisfied with her hiding spot.

"I'll get it," Genevieve offered as she stood from the family table and went through the kitchen. She'd forgotten how much she enjoyed these nights. As much as Fiero thought that getting drunk was not a proper pass-time for a young lady, Genevieve couldn't deny that she liked the feeling of forgetting that she was just a servant with no future prospects. She couldn't chase the grin from her face as she descended down into the cellar to fetch a jug of wine. Sitting down on the stairs, Genevieve clutched her side which hurt from laughing so much. She needed a break and waited a few minutes catching her breath before grabbing a jug.

She chuckled to herself as she came back up the stairs. Back through the kitchen.

Silence emitted from the room where once there were peals of laughter, talking and joy. Idly, Genevieve wondered if the family had moved onto a game of charades and were watching the performer with bated breath as she approached the door between the kitchen and the dining room.

The Lombardi family sat at the table as Genevieve had left them. Except each of them were slumped forward. It appeared they had abandoned all civil thoughts of utilising cutlery and aimed to pick food off their plates with their mouths.

Marcella was closest to her in the seat at the head of the table, face turned toward the lonely doorway in which Genevieve stood. Blood gushed onto her plate and stained her stately clothes. Her limp arms hung resolutely by her sides and her silent eyes confirmed Genevieve's dread.

Marcella smiled grotesquely from her neck.

"There!" A male voice shouted and she was drawn to note that there were seven men on the other side of the room by the fire. They wore the chain mail of crusaders with a red cross plastered proudly on the front.

The same one on the discs.

The jug shattered around Genevieve's feet like the threadbare fabric of her new reality in that moment.

Genevieve's vision was crystal clear and the information her eyes fed to her brain was swift. _Move!_ Her mind screamed at her legs and she fled through the kitchen, pulling chairs down behind her to hinder her pursuers. She grabbed two knives from the block and bolted down the hallway toward the internal staircase. Yelling told her that the men had reached the doorway of the kitchen. She ran down the hallway, hoping to confuse them by giving them a number of hallways to search through.

Genevieve forced herself to stop and hid next to the doorway to the staircase. She drew two steady breaths and listened for the clatter of her pursuers. It was near impossible to hear past the wild thundering emitting from her heart but she clenched her jaw, counted to ten and felt the steps of the men draw closer. She didn't know how many there were but she figured she'd deal with the first one and face the next one as best as she could.

She didn't know from where this idea sprung up in her mind but as soon as she saw a shirt sleeve, her hand, wielding a knife, flung out and caught her pursuer in the throat. In slow motion, shock registered on his face and he simply collapsed right next to her, gurgling like a fountain going dry.

Snuffing out a life was that easy.

As soon as her own shock subsided, she realised his friends hadn't followed him. Instinctively, she pulled him from the doorway and semi-hid him into the room behind her. A trail of blood betrayed her.

 _What now?_ Her mind asked herself as she heaved a sigh, deliberately not looking at the deceased.

 _Get the discs._ She ran toward the staircase and mounted them two-at-a-time. Crashing into her room, she pushed her wardrobe against the door after slamming it shut. She retrieved her stash of coins and the bag of discs from the bedhead. She had made a jacket and sewn the discs into the fabric so that she could wear them inconspicuously. She pulled on the jacket and secured the knife in her waistband. To get out she would have to return through the staircase and down the hall toward the kitchen. Not a good prospect. She didn't think she could handle more than one opposer at a time.

 _What would Fiero do?_ Her mind wondered idly. She gazed toward the chair in which she usually found him visiting her. How she wished he was here now. He'd know what to do. Her eyes flickered up to the window, as though because she wished it, he would float in and rescue her.

There was no Fiero, with his careful smile, watchful eyes and confidence. There was Genevieve and she was alone. The night twinkled at her through the open window and the curtains beckoned to her in the breeze.

She steeled herself, searching for her own confidence, hoping she'll be okay. There weren't many lights across the way, being after dark and well into the night, but she knew that there was a balcony on the other side. Fiero had previously landed on there and climbed around the building, out of sight. He made it look easy as pie.

Hesitantly, she grabbed a the thickest, leather belt she had and approached the window. She was two floors up and the street below was deserted in the darkness. An owl teased her with the ease at which it floated past. _Don't think about it_ she advised herself as she apprehensively tossed the belt over the wire and tested the weight. Of course, if it could hold Fiero, it would hold her.

Thoughts flew back painfully and regretfully to the Dining Room and the Lombardi family. Marcella's vacant eyes and red smile flashed in Genevieve's minds eye. There was nothing she could do for them. The Inn was sparsely staffed for the off-season and she was the only live-in servant left. The stable-boy wouldn't be back until the morning. With the perpetrators still downstairs, looking for their discs, Genevieve wasn't going to wait around to see what they would do next.

Tightening her grip, she pushed off and flew down the wire – wind whistled through her hair and fire licked her hands as she clung tightly to the leather. Flying through the night like a bat, she managed to pull her feet up to clear the balcony railing and crash landed. Breathing hard she looked back the way she had come.

All seemed deceptively quiet inside the Inn. It was hard to believe the horror that happened inside the Dining Room, had actually happened. The entrance was around the corner further along the street and beyond Genevieve's sight. There was no way of knowing what was happening inside.

Genevieve managed to climb around the corner of her building and onto the roof next door and down to ground level, without breaking herself. Frightened, she pulled her new jacket around her, checked she still had her few florins and melted into the night.

Smoke in the air and a fierce orange glow in the sky so spoke volumes to the inhabitants of the town. It drew people out of their houses in the dead of the night to peer and speculate. Dogs barked constantly in all directions, adding to the oddity of the burning building.

Genevieve weaved between spectators huddled together, pointing over the buildings, thanking the Lord that it wasn't their home, guessing which establishment it was. Despite the amount of people the fire had drawn into the street, there was no one to see Genevieve walk into a stable, locate some tack and steal a horse from behind another Inn in the town. For once, she thanked her father for leaving the horses to her when she lived with him and her mother. She quickly saddled and mounted the gelding. Despite the recent events, she felt thoroughly at home in the saddle, given that she hadn't ridden since abandoning her father. She'd ridden before she knew how to walk. Genevieve aimed her mount north and didn't stop until morning. She had only one address for Fiero and she intended to get there as soon as possible. Before anything else could happen.

Like a ghost, she stole boys clothes from a line early the next morning. She managed to beg the loan of a pair of scissors from the suspicious eyes of a tailor in the next small town. She sheared off her hair and used material from her useless skirt to strap her breasts firmer to her body to give herself a less curvy figure. Donning the clothes and finally the precious jacket, she prayed that she passed as a young man with her new haircut and boyish clothes. The horse she stole was a good one, quiet and sure-footed with a high step.

Deciding not to linger, she set off out of the small town, keeping her head down and moving quicker than she dared. The town she needed to get to was another day's ride at least. Foregoing food for herself, she only drank water at the fountain after she watered her horse. She spoke to no one.

Genevieve was lucky – no one bothered her on the road. No one even saw her. She abandoned the road, the next night, and camped up towards the side of a hill. Under the shelter of a tree. She unsaddled the horse and lay down in the grass, trying to sleep. The air was cold and she tucked her fingers under her armpits to stop them from shaking.

Luca, Marcella and their children's faces haunted the back of Genevieve's eyelids. She missed them. Missed being a servant. Missed the everyday easiness of being told what to do and when to do it. Even the crusader that she had murdered mingled with the faces of the Lombardi family. She had only fleetingly glanced at his face but she knew every curve and line in it. She had taken him from his family. They were less the breadwinner. Genevieve prayed to God and to her mother, begging forgiveness, hoping for places in heaven for the Lombardi's and hoping the family she didn't know would be alright. Hoping she would be alright.

She lay in the darkness listening to the crickets and the lonely night-birds, on their wings and with their forlorn calls. The comforting snorts and hoof-falls of her horse told her that she wasn't alone though. Clinging to this small measure of comfort, she turned her thoughts to what she would need to do. She had sworn to guard the discs with her life for Fiero. To Fiero she would return them. Genevieve set her eyes on her future.

However near, or far it would be.


	12. Chapter 12

She arrived in her target town the day after the next day. Her weighty jacket comforted her and told her she was doing the right thing. It was still early morning and she was tired from riding all night instead of resting as she had the first night. She asked around in the market to locate the street she was looking for. _Don't smile,_ she reminded herself sternly, _men wanting things don't smile so you don't either._ Genevieve had deepened her voice a little, to pass as a man. It seemed to work as the wares trader didn't look at her twice when he gave her directions. With nothing else to do, she led her horse down the streets following the directions she was given and thought about what she would do once she reached the door.

Genevieve was hungry. She hoped Fiero would be there and that he wouldn't take the news of his deceased family too hard. He would need space and time to process, so she wouldn't crowd him and she'd wait. Then she'd given him the discs when he was ready and asked for them. All she wanted was some food and a quiet corner to sit down in for a while. She bought a small loaf of bread as she passed a bakery and tried to quench her hunger, if only for now.

The street that Fiero's address inhabited was a main road in and out of the town. The buildings all looked the same on either side of the street: two stories high with a front door facing the street. They were plain houses in a street that few people frequented at this time of the morning. Counting the houses, she found the one she was looking for.

A large horse-drawn cart stood sentinel at the front door and two men were loading it with crates from inside the house. She didn't recognise either of them and they didn't seem especially striking to her. They wore the plain clothes of men, pants, boots and loose white shirts with wide-brimmed hats. Neither of them was Fiero. Genevieve's heart sunk as she doubled checked the street she was in and the number house on the building. It was definitely the right place.

Doubt flickered over her mind and she tied her horse up at the railing a building down from them. She fiddled with the saddlebags and stirrups while covertly watching the pair repeatedly disappear inside and return with crates. There were quite a few crates and they talked as they worked.

"... I'm glad the office was easy to pack away. I was anxious about that the most," one was saying.

"Yes, there's not too much else that needs to go."

They disappeared inside. Genevieve waited patiently, moving around her horse to check his hooves and legs.

"... have you packed the dry food? We'll need to make sure it goes on last for the trip. The ride always seems longer and longer every time I do it."

"I know. Yea, it should be that box there."

"Was there anything else in the note that we should take particular attention of?"

"No, just that we had to leave immediately."

"Seemed spooked that letter."

"Something's changed..."

Genevieve considered her options, few and rushed as they were. She could walk up to the men and ask them directly for Fiero. The disadvantage of that was that she didn't know them, they didn't know her and they would probably deny knowing Fiero. Fiero was not of the habit of making his comings and goings known, not to her at least. There was no way to tell if he had mentioned her to anyone he knew save for Luca. She didn't want to tell them about the discs – Fiero wanted them hidden and hidden they would stay until she saw his face. If they denied her, she would have to follow them which was made more difficult because they would be watching for her.

Option two involved following them without approaching them first. This was more desirable because it allowed her the freedom to remain anonymous. Her travels thus far has been uneventful and she didn't doubt that she could manage the trip as long as she didn't have to eat. However, she didn't know where they were going or how long it might take to get there. Her funds were running low. What if they decided to travel a road that wasn't used very well? If they spotted her, they would wonder why she wasn't travelling faster than their own heavy cart. She could bunny hop but pulling in front and then stopping at various crowded points but she might loose sight of them and they might become suspicious. Drawing suspicion could lead to an unwanted confrontation, in which she would not stand a chance. Not even with her single knife.

Her heart beat faster at the last option she had to consider. She thought it through carefully and watched them load a few more boxes into the back of the cart. They had covered the cart with a low thick material, that spanned from one edge of the back to the next, against the elements. In her hand, she held the bread, she had her jacket, her knife and her last florin was tucked into a pocket.

The street looked as sparsely used as it was ever going to be and Genevieve untied her horse. She pushed him away and he trotted a little unsurely down the street. She didn't wait to see which way the free beast would go. The two men were walking back inside the building as she casually approached. They didn't see her. She glanced into the back of the cart, noticing the crates that were stacked and fitted neatly next to each other. Pulling a couple of them out a little, she climbed up and slotted herself between the thick material and over the crates two deep. It was dark under the material, even though the sun was high enough in the sky. Calmly, she wedged herself between four crates in the middle of the back of the cart. Lastly, she pulled the crates she had moved against her as tightly as she could and prayed that the two men didn't notice any change.

Her heart beat wildly at being caught out. It was a wonder that it didn't give her away. She held her breath and waited. She counted her heartbeats. Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen... Footsteps returned, two sets and Genevieve bunkered down in between the boxes, praying that her profile didn't clear the edge of the crates next to her. She squeezed her eyes shut despite not being able to see anything anyway.

"What's next?"

Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen...

"We've got to stop at the blacksmith to pay him. Then we leave." They shuffled around the cart and one of the men put one last crate into the back.

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty...

She flinched as a sound scraped in her ears. Some banging ensued and the tailgate closed off the last ray of sunshine, encasing her in darkness.

Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four...

The footsteps climbed up into the bench seat. "Ah, I'm not going to enjoy this. Not one bit," one of the men were saying, "I prefer the saddle." He clicked with his tongue, a muffled sound to Genevieve under the material and the cart lurched forward. She had to bite her own tongue to stop herself from gasping in surprise. Then she had to bite it again to stop herself from laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. This morning, if anyone had told her that she'd be a stowaway in the back of a cart, heading to God-knows where, she would have laughed and told them that they were crazy.

But then, her life had become crazy. Ever since her mother died. Genevieve didn't know if she was doing the right thing. She wanted to ask the darkness if what she was doing was right.

The darkness didn't have the answers. And she knew that women didn't behave the way she was behaving. Genevieve felt oddly at peace. So she prayed while she was being taken to the unknown and asked Him to watch over her.

The men pulled up the cart after a short time. It was a brief stop then they started again. The rumbling, rocking of the cart soon sent Genevieve to sleep.

She awoke sometime later and panicked a little from the confines of her space before she remembered where she was and what she was up to. She had no idea how long they had been travelling. The cart was slowing to a stop. "Here looks good," one of the men was saying. Genevieve desperately wanted to stretch out her arms and legs. And to breathe some fresh air.

The men dismounted. Their shoes made no sound as they walked around the cart. Grass? The tailgate was loosened and dropped with a bang. Genevieve jumped and held her breath again, hoping, praying that she would not be found out before their destination.

The two men seemed to know what the other was doing. They communicated minimally for the time being. But from the sounds that Genevieve could hear, they were setting up a camp, bringing out food and building a fire. They talked and talked, and ate, and talked and Genevieve waited. She had to pee. The tailgate was left down, so close to some freedom and yet so far.

The sun disappeared and the night set in. The glow from the fire died down and the men went quiet.

And still Genevieve waited.

She waited until they were well into the night and then she prayed that the men were heavy sleepers. She took a few deep breaths and slowly pulled herself over the two crates toward the back of the cart. Silently, she stole a peek out the tailgate and could see the remnants of a fire off to her right. There were two long dark figures in blankets on the ground near the fire. The cool air bit her face as she hesitated. Neither man moved. One was snoring like a horn. A little further on, the horses were hobble tied and had bags of food around their heads. Their ears pointed toward her but they made no sound. They had chosen a nice clearing away from the road and on the edge of a smattering of trees.

Her bladder urged her on. As quietly as a night owl, she crept from the back of the cart and scooted around the side of the cart opposite the two men. Darting into the safety of the trees, she thankfully relieved herself, luckily before she soiled herself, and stretched out the cramps from her legs and back. She enjoyed her freedom for a while but didn't dare to linger too long. Genevieve crept back to the cart, loaded herself back inside again and promptly fell asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Genevieve became dangerously hungry early the next morning. She floated between blissful sleep in which she could feel nothing and painful hunger pangs when she was awake that reminded her of her time spent homeless after she had lost her job at the tailor's. She resolved to steal food when they next stopped for the night. Laying there in the dark, she distracted herself by recalling every single encounter she'd had with Fiero. She reminded herself to be thankful for his intervention in her life. While Genevieve hadn't expected to be a stowaway in the back of a cart, heading in a direction that she didn't know, she was certain that the alternative would've been far worse if she hadn't met Fiero. She kept her mind busy by recalling stories from the Bible and remembering her mother when she was younger.

For three days, Genevieve lay in the back of the cart, emerging only at night to relieve herself and to steal as much food as she dared to without drawing suspicion. Each time, the men were snoring and didn't stir once. She was thoroughly sick of being cramped in the tight space. The going was slow and the men's talk was boring. They spoke only of general things and didn't mention Fiero's name once. It didn't help that she had no idea if she was doing the right thing or not. There were many times that she wanted to give herself away and speak to someone. Just to break the monotonousness of it all.

So when the men began to talk excitedly about "nearly there" and "getting there before midday", Genevieve nearly whooped for joy herself.

Then her feelings came crashing down on top of her. What if her hunch had been wrong? What if these people weren't affiliated with Fiero at all? She didn't have a plan, didn't know what she would do if she was wrong.

Butterflies fluttered by in her belly as they eventually drew the cart to a halt. A thousand different scenarios ran through her mind and she couldn't decide on a certain course of action. The two men got down from the cart and made yawning and stretching sounds. Genevieve blinked into the darkness, silently asking it what she should do.

They dropped the tailgate and the sunlight filtered through. Each grabbed boxes and took them away. The suspense killed Genevieve so she clambered over the crates and peeked from the back of the cart. The sharp light stole her vision for ten solid seconds. When her eyes came to, she looked around at an impeccably kept and colourful welcome yard with a wide circling driveway. Tall iconic pines lined the driveway that stretched away from her until she couldn't tell if the driveway ended or if it turned. The green fields were crisscrossed with a solid white fence. She faced the Alps and they extended in two directions away from her, to her left and to her right.

"Hey! Who're you!?" yelled a man from behind Genevieve. She spun and her eyes landed on a man, dressed in a uniform of green pants and cape over a red military vest. His beard lined his chin and met his moustache which framed a frowning face. He angrily stalked toward her, hand on the handle of his sword.

Genevieve's first instinct was to run but the building that loomed behind the man stole her immediate attention. Her eyes drifted from the double wide, dark, double wood doors from which he emerged and then upwards to four tall stories of stark, cold, grey stone. She nearly fell over backwards from craning her neck. She hadn't seen a castle before in her life.

Then the guard backhanded her and she did fall over backwards. A sharp stinging pain erupted from her jaw and she cried out before remembering that she was meant to be a boy. Her eyes smarted with tears as he gave her another.

"Hey! We have a stowaway!" he yelled, man-handling her to a standing position. The castle in front of her spanned an impossible length in both directions. Dumbstruck at the sheer size of the regal establishment, Genevieve didn't say anything to the guard. She did struggle against his vice-like grip though and managed to knee him in the groin. While he keeled over with an almighty groan and some cuss words, he didn't let her go.

Another guard appeared at his call and raced over to the duo. Genevieve wrestled for her freedom but a fist met her face and she fell like a sack of potatoes to the ground.

When Genevieve came to, she was being carried between two men up marble steps in a stately entrance hall. Her hands tied in front of her. The blue and green trimmings softened the harshness of the black, white and grey stone but the sheer size of the room took Genevieve's breath away. It seemed bigger than the entire Inn she had left days ago. They turned down the maze and passed countless furniture and paintings, too many for her to take stock of or remember. She recalled the last few minutes of consciousness. Castle. Two men. Achy face. She took stock of her body. Her face throbbed and her lip felt tender. She could taste blood and her tongue toured her mouth searching for broken teeth. The inside of her cheek flared in pain. Nothing else was hurting. Her tattered clothes appeared in tact. Thank the heavens.

"I'll walk," she announced, summoning the best male voice she could despite her aches and stumbled to put her feet underneath her.

"Come quietly." The statement was short and gruff and she nodded as the green-cladded guards relinquished their hold on her. The two men walked behind her, so she couldn't see their faces and on fear of being found out as a woman, she didn't look at them. Walking taller and heavier, she listened for the directions, 'left, right, right,' until they stopped in front of a large wooden double door at the end of a long hall. Despite the regalness of her new surroundings, Genevieve could not ignore her belly grumbling at her. The familiar and painful ache seemed ten times worse now that she could move and felt injured. All she could feel was ill. Her foggy mind couldn't care about anything.

One of the men, dressed in leather and weapons, Genevieve now saw, stepped forward to knock on the door.

"Come!" was the answer after a minute silence. The door-knocker gave her a nonplussed look and opened the door. As though she were vermin of the earth. The other shoved her roughly inside the room.

The room was again, oversized and furnished in blue and green. A man sat behind the grand desk, looking through papers and maps. His view through the window was of impeccably kept gardens featuring fountains, a maze and countless rows of flowers. The colours dazzled her eyes and she wondered at the order of it all. Beyond the garden were fields of crops and other buildings dotted around clumps of trees. All framed by the majestic Alps. It was stunning.

But Genevieve couldn't admire it too much. There was a plate of bread, cheese and olives on the desk. She could feel her belly growling and prayed to God that only she could hear it.

The man sitting behind the desk was old and wizened. His grey hair betrayed his age but he bestowed a curiously patient look upon Genevieve. While a captive, she didn't feel directly threatened. There must be an order of the people in the castle otherwise the guards would've taken it upon themselves to deal her with the treatment they felt an uninvited stowaway deserved.

"Master," the guard who knocked on the door addressed the old man, "This urchin was a stowaway on Pietro's cart."

An eyebrow was raised.

"Were you now?" he asked.

Genevieve waited, thinking this was a rhetorical question. She couldn't help her eyes sliding to the plate of food. Amidst the silence, one of the guards prodded her, she realised she was supposed to answer the man.

"Yes Sir," she dragged her eyes back to the old man.

"Why?"

"I was looking for something," she said, then the ridiculousness of it all gave her an edge. She crookedly smiled, "It wasn't in the cart." The old man chuckled and shook his head.

"What were you looking for? Perhaps I can help." The smile faded from her face as she considered her options. Thinking was hard through the numerous clouds around her mind: her belly wanted her attention, her face hurt like someone had taken a branding iron to it and exhaustion threatened to roll her. She made no reply and she swayed a little. This wasn't going as half as well as she had hoped. It all seemed too difficult. All she wanted was food, a blanket and a quiet corner.

"Perhaps the lady might like to start with telling us her name," said a low, quiet voice from her left. Another man stood off to that side, she hadn't noticed him upon entering but he was markedly younger than the old man at the desk. This man obviously wasn't hiding but he clearly wasn't the focal point of the room either. His blue eyes were not amused but they were patient again, like the old man. He wore attire the same as Fiero would, the hood, which was down presently, the leather and some weapons. Only his gear was in black which blended him with the edge of the dark bookcase behind him. His voice carried well. Even if the room were filled with laughing, dancing people, Genevieve was sure each person would hear his baritone voice.

Genevieve's eyes flickered over his clothes, drinking in every detail. Her suspicions that she was in the right place were confirmed though she hadn't thought there would be more than one who acted so oddly as Fiero did. Heartened by this clue, she rallied her last reserves of energy to focused but the cloud hung over her mind.

"What do you mean? A lady?" asked one of the guards.

"Are you not a lady?" Baritone asked her directly. She didn't see a point in denying her true gender. Truth be told, she had no energy for it. She nodded.

"And your name?"

"Genevieve." Her eyes strayed again to settle on the plate of food.

"Genevieve," he repeated as he reached over and pushed the plate toward her. Her eyes flickered from his face, to the plate and back again.

"Would you like something to eat?"

Forgetting her manners, she sat down and grabbed the bread. Unconsciously, she moaned softly at the first few mouthfuls, completely drawn into the task of eating. Nearly forgetting to chew before she swallowed. Baritone poured water into a cup for her and she gulped it down with her food. Unceremoniously, she stuffed her face despite how much it hurt. It gave her time to think. Her mind cleared up as the cloud of her hunger lifted and her body sighed in relief.

The three men waited without interrupting her.

"Genevieve," Baritone addressed her, as she burped and excused herself.

"Please, when does Fiero get here?" she asked eagerly, interrupting him, "He told me to meet him," Genevieve continued confidently. She watched the hooded gentleman's indecipherable face carefully for any recognition of the name. There was no flinch, no blink, no involuntary tic that indicated a familiarity with the name. Silence loomed over the room and Genevieve sensed that the next move was being considered. The blue eyes didn't waver one second.

"No one here goes by that name," he said quietly but firmly. Her plan didn't work. Panic set in. She was wrong to think that the cart would lead her to Fiero. He wasn't here, wherever here was.

"Well, I must be in the wrong place," she intoned, standing up, "Thank you for the food. I must be going." Her small curtsey reminded her that she was still dressed in pants, a shirt and her precious jacket. Her curtsey must've looked ridiculous. At least she was still in possession of the precious tokens.

"I'm afraid that isn't an option," Baritone told her, his voice more threatening than before, and the guards grabbed her.

"I don't know who you are and I don't care what you do here," she said with mounting fear, "If you let me go, I promise I won't say a word." The old man shared a look with the man next to the bookcase that did not go unnoticed.

"I can't allow your departure," the old man said solemnly, regretfully. He made a movement with his head toward the door, "You are our guest until you are told otherwise." Fear gripped her heart.

"Guest or prisoner?"

"You pick," the old man replied as the guards took her by the arm and steered her away. Panicked, she shot a fearful look over her shoulder at the man next to the bookcase who was watching her leave broodingly. The doorway closed and he was gone.

The guards steered her back the way they had come, a little more gently than before. All of her aches came back and she was too tired to struggle. She wondered if there were dungeons in the old castle with rusty bars and if they would give her a blanket and some more bread. She was too tired to care about anything else. The grief that she had buried deep within her chest crept slowly from its cage and up her throat. It seemed to know that her positive energy was running low with the current setbacks. She tried to swallow it down but it was too strong. She sobbed silently as the guards dragged her down a few sets of stairs.

After fleeing into the night, riding a night and most of three days laying in the back of a cart, all the while knowing that she hadn't eaten or drank enough water was catching up to her. She'd made the wrong decision and now she would never find Fiero. She couldn't remember how long they had been walking and she didn't know where she was in the castle. Nor did she care. A blanket and food was all she wanted. Wearily, she walked into a room that was sparsely furnished and sat immediately on the bed in there. The guards said nothing as they locked the door behind them and she did nothing but lay on the bed and fall asleep.

Three days of nothingness passed slowly like time in annoying company. It was like she had never left the back of the cart. Some old women came and tended to the wounds on her face but they would not give Genevieve any information that was of use. The days were long. The nights were difficult as she hadn't done anything all day. But she was oddly content. Food was brought to her and scraps were taken away. She was allowed toilet breaks. Nothing was asked of her. Nobody wanted her to do anything other than eat, sleep and relieve herself.

On the fourth day, she was visited by the man wearing black from her meeting. Baritone. The door groaned open and he invited himself in. Today, he was wearing the same attire he had a few days ago. His blue eyes were kinder today than before as he looked down on her.

"Genevieve, how are you?" he asked presently.

"I'm well, thank you. And you?"

"Me also," he gestured around the room, "My apologies about this room and your isolated treatment thus far."

"Oh, this is quite relaxing," she countered immediately, sitting up, "No one asks me to do anything. Food is brought and cleaned up after without me lifting a finger. I don't have to clean or deal with customers. No boss to tell me what to do. This must be what a Queen feels like!" Despite everything, she meant these words and she smiled heartily at the brooding man. He took her words with deep thought.

"I'm glad that this is considered acceptable for you," the man replied leisurely.

"He dresses like you," she said boldly as she stood to look him in the eye, attempting to let him know that she was confident that Fiero was linked to this place. The man cocked his head slightly, questioningly. "The same attire, same weapons, same everything." This didn't seem to move him at all.

He told her, "Fiero has confirmed that you are his acquaintance," Genevieve's heart did a small leap of joy. Her hope mounted on top of this revelation and she had to smile in relief. Baritone continued, "If he hadn't, I would've made more complicated arrangements for you." This disguised threat rendered her silent as she considered what it might mean. "Still, he asked me to obtain the information that you have for him and allow you to be on your way," Baritone's pleasant manner was disarming. Genevieve considered this carefully. Her goal was to see Fiero, explain what happened at the Inn, give him the tokens he had entrusted to her and see what would happen next. She daren't reveal that she had the tokens in case Baritone didn't give them to Fiero. Genevieve shook her head.

"No, I insist upon seeing him myself." It occurred to her that he was playing a ruse. What if he hadn't made contact with Fiero? What if he was lying to get her to tell him what she knew? What if he was lying to get her to tell him about the tokens?

Baritone standing in front of her was unperturbed.

"In anticipation of your refusal, I've made arrangements to move you to more appropriate room. If you please..." he held out a hand to invite her to leavev. His countenance was stiffly proper and Genevieve hesitantly moved past him. Was this a joke? He let her go out first and then led the way back through the castle. She followed quietly, attempting to try and recall different sections of the vast maze. To no avail. She could not remember any of it. The first hallway was a mirror image of the next. They climbed a few flights of stairs and down some more hallways.

Being a prisoner did not suit her and she briefly considered if she could get away while unbound and in the company of Baritone. His array of weapons however, probably meant that he was skilled in the use of each. She didn't like her chances.

Not wishing to sound stupid, Genevieve racked her brains for a topic to speak about but came up empty. The gentleman was not one to invite easy conversation, in any case. Despite his genteel manners and calm visage, he was still her captor and could change his mind about her treatment as he pleased.

The man opened the door to a well-lit room with furnishings matching that of a Baroness. A four-poster bed stood against the wall, parallel to the window that showed a yard in between two of the castle wings. There was a stable a little further on. The room also had lounge chairs and a set of bookcases, totally covered with books. There was a fireplace with chairs and a writing desk.

Genevieve could not believe what she was seeing. If she thought she was living like a Queen before, in _that_ shoebox cell, what would she compare living to now? It took all of her will not to turn a shocked expression to her captor. As if expecting it, he waited for her to take it in. When he felt enough time had passed for her to issue anything, during which she looked around but didn't say anything, he spoke again.

"You'll stay here instead," he told her, curtly, in his voice that could command thousands from a whisper, "Make no mistake, you do not have complete freedom here. You are to remain in this room. For an hour before midday meal a guard will accompany you to peruse the gardens outside. Meals will be brought to you here. If you desire anything, please let me know. Your door will remain locked unless you are taking your daily exercise." Her wonderment wore off quickly.

"Still a prisoner."

"A necessary evil," he replied immediately, "It is not often that we detain ladies of suspicion." _So, he had no idea what to do with her._

"How long will I be here for?" she asked.

"Until Fiero comes for you."

"Is there faith here?" she asked suddenly. He blinked incomprehensively. "A church? Or a priest, more specifically?"

"No, there isn't."

"May I request the services of a priest?" His response was long coming while he didn't take his calculating eyes off her. Genevieve was nearly sorry to ask because his expression was rigid and unyielding. She held her breath and hoped for the best, meeting his gaze calmly. The next person who spoke lost.

"I won't promise that I can provide one for you, but I can make enquiries."

"Thank you, sir."

He hesitated before bowing stiffly. He left, closing the door behind him softly but the lock turned and clicked into place as loud as a church bell.

A mirror hanging on the wall caught Genevieve's attention and she wondered over to it to see what her face looked like. One side was puffy but the split in her lip had scabbed and appeared to be in full swing of healing to nothing but a scar. The cut along her brow had also scabbed and matched her skin shade better than it had before when it was bright red and smarting. _Ugh,_ she thought, _no wonder they kept her locked up._


	14. Chapter 14

The next morning, breakfast was brought to her and she ate with relish, thanking the old servant over and over again. The servants were, again, as silent as stone statues and ignored her every statement and question. Genevie was aware that she garnered surprised looks from the house-staff and made every effort to appear approachable. If worse came to worse, perhaps she could beg for a post here in the kitchen or as cleaning staff? Genevieve wouldn't mind working in such grand a place as this.

"Please, if you won't answer any of my questions, come and join me," she offered, pulling up a chair next to her and offering a slice of buttered toast. The old woman narrowed her peevish eyes at Genevieve. It was only in retrospect that Genevieve perceived this offering as offensive to wait staff. "My apologies," she back tracked, "I'm not used to being waited upon like this. Or eating alone as such. Meal times are for friends and family and I have lost mine." Still, nothing but contempt from this old hag. Sickened by her own thought of losing friends and family, Genevieve's appetite faded and she abandoned the rest of her meal.

Idly, Genevieve perused the books and found nothing that drew her attention. Her anxious thoughts were full of seeing Fiero again and what their meeting would be like. She wished for something to do with her hands, patchwork, dressmaking, even some curtains to mend would've been nice. Perhaps she'll ask Baritone for a sewing machine and some material with which to direct her hands over.

The window offered a slight reprieve as she sat in the seat and gazed out on the vast lawns and yards of the castle grounds. Past the immediate garden, far to the right of a maze, in the yards adjacent to the stables on that side, were three different groups of men, all diligently training in combat. One group had swords, another rode their horses and the last had no weapons at all and were wrestling. The point of these exercises was lost on Genevieve as she watched them execute and repeat various moves.

Each group had a leader, who instructed from his stance, sometimes demonstrated a move or corrected form. What kind of operation called for such training regimes? An idea came to Genevieve and she rummaged in the desk drawer for parchment, quill and ink. She noted down the day and time and described the three groups in the pages, listing any observances she made.

This kept her busy until there was a knock on the door. She had forgotten that she was to go for a walk, as her captor wanted. There was nothing else for it then, she called 'Come!' and a guard let himself in.

He was young, of average height and a shy face that barely looked at Genevieve. He wore the uniform, complete with sword by his side. "I am Giovanni," an average name to suit an average person, thought Genevieve, "... here to attend you on your daily exercise." After making a short introduction and enquiring as to what the weather was like outside, Genevieve pulled her jacket around her shoulders, finding comfort in the uncommon weight of it, and followed the young man out.

The walk to the door that would take them outside was closer than she expected, down a few hallways and stairs close to her room. The doorway led to a small courtyard, surrounded by olive trees. A wendy pathway carried them away from the monstrous shadow of the castle and into the shining rays of light. She gauged her window to be somewhere above the olive tree courtyard and the maze to be south over the next garden section over. The castle was much bigger than Genevieve's first impressions. The sheer scale of the place was mindboggling. The setting was breathtaking. This place was heaven.

Genevieve dawdled around the olive yard and into the next garden featuring a rose garden, forcing the guard to slow his pace impatiently.

"Have you also been told not to speak with me?" she asked Giovanni sadly.

"My instructions are clear," he replied shortly, neither confirming nor denying it. On the pretence of inspecting the beauty and scent of a few flowers, she turned her back to her guard and looked around the establishment. She was looking for reference points and mentally trying to map her way around. This garden was south-west of the olive garden and extended further back. The walls seemed sheer but trees grew close to it, offering shady hidey holes at the back of the garden.

As they continued on, Genevieve did not attempt to engage this guard in conversation. He seemed uptight but bored. Instead, she busied herself with appearing to wander around and noting her surroundings. Was this where they made the men like Fiero, who skulked around in hooded attire, melting into the shadows and killing rapists with ease?

The day was cool and breezy. It was all too soon before the guard told her "We must go back now," and Genevieve reluctantly followed him. She followed him as slowly as she dared and was not verbally reprimanded for taking her time, however, the guard shot her impatient looks of 'hurry up!' every now and again.

No one visited Genevieve except for the servants and the guard on her daily walk.

It was a week before Genevieve felt she had a good understanding of the grounds. Giovanni was back to escort her on her daily wanderings. He was his usual sentinel self and barely paid her any attention. She attempted to make light conversation and was met with a proverbial brick wall.

Today would be different though.

She ventured out through the olive garden and into the rose garden again. This time, she went further out from the castle towards the back of the garden this time. Picking a spot as far away from the castle as possible she turned and announced, "Oh! Dear! I must relieve myself!" Giovanni's eyes widened in alarm. Caught like a hare in a trap, he did not know what to do. Genevieve crossed her legs where she stood and scrunched her face as much as she could. "It won't do! I'll never make it back in time."

Giovanni looked left to right and left again along the path they had come, but weather it was in desperate search of help or embarrassedly hoping no one saw, Genevieve couldn't tell. He stammered, "W-what?"

"I'm just going to go behind these hedges here. Don't look!" she screeched as she picked up her skirt and ducked into the foliage. "Turn around! And sing something so you can't hear me!"

"What!?"

"Giovanni! Please! Turn around!" she yelled desperately from behind the bushes, rustling them a little for emphasis, "Sing something for both our sakes!"

And to her amazement, he did. He had a fine alto voice and he sang a bright gig from his childhood.

Giggling to herself, she found the tree she had located on a previous walk and, with some difficulty, hoisted herself up and over the wall next to it. She landed on grass, thankfully, and found herself in another section of the garden. She made off quickly, jogging directly out from the wall, through the maze that was on the other side. She had seen this maze from her window, though she had not been able to figure its key out. Still, being lost in a maze meant that she would be harder to find once Giovanni worked out what had happened.

After some time, she felt sure that Giovanni would either be following or raising the alarm. Genevieve managed to find her way through to the other side of the maze and looked around the bright day with a satisfied smile.

She had no intention of leaving such a beautiful place. Her objective was up ahead, over the fence and to the training fields. From the edge of the field, she could see the same three groups of men in their respective groups, all diligently practicing moves or riding. She approached quickly and was surprised when no one appeared to see her. In fact, the men didn't see her until she was a few meters away from one of the leaders. Then they stopped and stared, which prompted the leader to turn around.

Her captor, Baritone's, face was priceless as he gawked at her, speechless.

"Good morning," she announced, reserving her cheery and triumphant tone as much as possible – it would not do to gloat about escaping her guard, "Sir, may I join you?" She didn't wait for an answer as she strolled over to some equipment that had been tossed aside. There was an amused murmur amongst the men. They shifted their weight on their feet as they watched her and waited for another instruction from Baritone.

Nonplussed and ignoring her question, her captor enquired coolly, "Genevieve, where is Giovanni?" In turn, she ignored his question and from the small shields and short swords, she selected one of each and tested the weight in her hands. They were heavier than she expected but not altogether unbearable.

"Put those down!" hissed a man from the ranks. She tilted her head, considering if he felt threatened by the fact that she was a woman invading their manly space or if he felt threated by an armed woman. Perhaps it was a mixture of both. She attempted one of the ready poses that she had observed them doing from her window and swung the sword slowly in a couple of defensive moves. Her core muscles groaned with the effort of holding up the leaden steel. She could not do this for long. Already, she was sweating.

"Take them," she called loudly, feeling unusually brave and knowing she'd have to be quick.

"Sir?" asked the man who had hissed. He was a burly man with a face pinched with hatred and lined with prideful youth. He stood a full head and shoulders taller than Genevieve, which she probably would not have noticed if he didn't appear to want to kill her.

The men expectantly watched their leader, awaiting a next order.

He was definitely not pleased about the prospect for a woman fighting but Genevieve stood ready. She would not be deterred.

"You," Baritone pointed to a smaller man, closer to Genevieve's height but who still had more mass than herself. He was an impressionable young man who appeared surprised to be selected.

"Sir, she's a woman..." he protested.

"... and she has issued a challenge. Take her weapons fairly, without drawing blood," her captor commanded impatiently. The young man gave his friends a surprised glance then approached Genevieve. Holding her shield steady, she eyed his face, watching for any early predictors of his actions. He was not joyous at being chosen for this task and he clearly decided that he shouldn't try as hard because she was a woman. They circled, and he tried a slow, exaggerated axe-chop, directly down to her, which she promptly blocked. It glanced off her shield with a clang! She countered, lunging as far forward as quickly she could, and managed to win with her sword pointed squarely at his chest. The youth was not impressed and his friends all laughed at him as he joined their ranks. He protested, saying she's a woman, it would've been ungentlemanly of him if he won.

The victory was short lived as she dropped her arms with a single "Ugh!"

"Had enough?" asked Baritone expectantly.

"I need just a minute," she replied and while she puffed a bit, he selected her next assailant. This one was bigger than the last, but not as big as the man who really wanted to fight her. She collected herself and her arms up into a stance again and nodded her readiness.

This man came at her without hesitation, chopping and swiping constantly, pushing Genevieve backwards and allowing no time for her to react. The repeated _clangs_ on her shield reverberated inside her head and the world seemed as though it was vibrating. He was focused, watchful and out skilled her in every way. She tried side stepping but he followed doggedly until she tripped back and involuntarily let go of her sword. It fell with a thud next to her as she hit the ground. He loomed above her, blocking the sun and drew his sword back to make a last strike. Hastily, she pulled the shield up to cover her face and braced it with two hands for the impact. She turned her ear to the ground and could hear her own heartbeat thud against the cool earth. She squeezed her eyes shut.

The contact never came and it wasn't until she heard the laughter that she peered from behind the shield. Her assailant grinned down at her, sword and shield down. She sighed in relief and picked up her own as she got up.

"Best of three?" asked her captor as she replaced her weaponry. She gave a good natured but exhausted laugh.

"Perhaps another day," she replied, an idea came to her and she approached him boldly, "Will you train me like you do these men?"

After a short consideration, in which she only had time to blink, he told her "No," but not without a hint of amusement, "Leonardo will escort you back to the castle." He turned away from her in dismissal, but she rounded on him.

"Why not?" she demanded.

"You're a prisoner."

She laughed.

"Am I?"

He frowned at her, obviously not used to being questioned so openly. His eyes didn't stop calculating as they narrowed.

"Would the answer be the same if I wasn't a woman?"

"Leonardo..." he was ignoring her again as Leonardo stepped forward, "Take Genevieve back to her room. She has missed midday meal. And if you find Giovanni, tell him to come and see me." The young man nodded and took Genevieve by the arm as she was about to protest but he dragged her away roughly until she assailed him with some vicious slaps. To which he threw her from him.

"You'll not drag me around like a sack of potatoes!"

"Leonardo, try it with some respect. She is at least once victorious and a guest here," her captor called to their backs. Genevieve glared at Leonardo. He said nothing, only motioned for her to get moving. With one last glance at Baritone's back, she turned and marched back up to the castle.

No midday meal was brought to her but it was worth it. She sat at the window, watching and wondering.


	15. Chapter 15

They didn't come for her for her walk the next day, though she was impatiently pacing, waiting for a guard to fetch her. She didn't think she would have another chance to escape a guard in the garden but she at least wanted to go outside. It had been so lovely the previous day.

The door remained locked and Genevieve, forgotten.

Until her midday meal was brought to her. A young woman, not much older than Genevieve, attended her with a tray laden with food. She was short but that wasn't the reason she could barely look Genevieve in the eye. She had a nervous air about her.

"Hello, my name is Genevieve. What's your name?" Genevieve tried to be friendly like she did with all the servants who she came into contact with. She didn't expect a response but this young woman with wispy blonde hair nodded and raised her clear blue eyes up to Genevieve's face briefly.

"I know. I am Elvera."

Intrigued, Genevieve didn't want to make it obvious that this was the first time another woman had spoken to her in a while. She smiled kindly at Elvera, food was immediately forgotten.

"That's a lovely name," she said warmly, "Elvera."

"Did you really go down to the training yard and fight two men?" the young woman blurted, earnestly seeking Genevieve for affirmation.

"I did," she replied, "Why do you ask?"

"There have been murmurs amongst the servants and I had to ask you for myself," Elvera replied triumphantly then she asked quizzically, "Why did you do that? And how? The guards are usually very attentive."

"I'll make a deal with you," Genevieve said to her, "If you tell me a few things, I'll tell you whatever you want to know." Elvera looked away shyly.

"We aren't supposed to be speaking with you."

"I won't tell, if you won't," Elvera nodded her understanding and she sat with Genevieve, even eating a few morsels that she offered her. Genevieve relayed how she managed to slip the guard. Elvera had a hard time controlling her laughter when she heard the story. She was an easy woman who knew how to laugh well.

"What is this place? No one has told me anything," Genevieve asked.

"None of the servants are entirely sure but we are not to go around speaking of what happens here, not that we see a lot. The men usually do things behind closed doors. We are paid well and no one dares to change that. They train and they have meetings and they come and go – the men that is. I don't bother myself with it too much. Only the Head Housekeeper would know anything but he keeps everyone in line. It's his discretion to hire or fire anyone so we do what he says," Elvera replied nonchalantly. She didn't seem too stressed about what actually happens at the castle, "Why did you do that? Go and fight the men – it seems such an odd thing to do! Especially for a woman! If you escaped your guard, why didn't you just leave?"

"I wasn't trying to escape. I only wanted to know a little bit more about what I've stumbled upon."

"The whispers say that you know one of the hooded men."

"I do. I owe him," she replied and went a little quiet, remembering the Lombardi family at the table. She shook herself to get the image out of her head and asked, "How many hooded men are there?"

"I've only ever laid eyes on eight different ones. But sometimes they dress in plain clothes too. It is hard to tell who might be a hooded man, and who is not."

"Who is the Master then?"

"The person that everyone answers to. Are you in love with him? Your friend who you owe?" Elvera asked perceptively. She leaned in a little, keen for some juicy details.

"No, no. No, I'm not," Genevieve replied.

"Ah! Three 'nos', who are you trying to fool?" Elvera laughed at Genevieve who coloured in the cheeks, "If you tell me his name, perhaps I know him."

"Is there one here that you are fond of?" Genevieve countered teasingly, "Perhaps I'll fight him and show what he truly is!" Elvera laughed again and shook her head.

"Not for me. I intend to marry a good Catholic man once I have earnt a good dowry. Do you intend to continue with this fighting business? What use would a woman have for it?"

"I don't think the leader will let me even if I wanted to. The man who locked me in here. He wore a black hood when we met. What is his name?"

"Ah, you speak of Lorenzo Sinacore. Many a woman is partial to _him_ ," Elvera wriggled her eyebrows suggestively as she said this.

"I am partial to no one," Genevieve pressed firmly, "It is as I say, no one has given me more than a look since I got here."

"Then I hope that your man arrives soon," Elvera replied, gathering the remains of the meal onto the tray, "A girl needs all the looks she can get to make sure she's still alive." She couldn't know just how much Genevieve's heart agreed with this sentiment.

"Elvera," Genevieve said. The woman stopped and looked at her expectantly, "Thank you for your kindness. It is nice to speak with someone so easy to get along with."

"I'll try and come again but the Head Housekeeper usually rotates us regularly so that we don't know what we'll be doing next," Elvera smiled and she took her leave.

Elated from the conversation, Genevieve lounged in a chair and considered Elvera. In retrospect, there probably wasn't a reason for Genevieve to be so guarded about Fiero. She desperately hoped that it was likely for her to see the laughing woman again. It had been a long time since she had felt connected with someone like her. The older one got, the more difficult it became. People had made their life-long friends already and other factors made demands on their lives, leaving little time for anyone new. But, hopefully, there wouldn't be a barrier between Genevieve and Elvera when she was finally released and a full friendship might bloom.

Her thoughts turned to when she might be released and the choices she may need to make. It all depended on Fiero and weather he would help her again. She remembered him standing in the window, looking in at her before gliding through the night. Hopefully he would remember her like she remembered him.

The guards came back to take her for her daily walks again but they were more cunning this time and didn't listen to anything she had to say. This was disappointing because her first escape had been quite fun.

Baritone, Lorenzo Sinacore, visited her once to ensure that she was behaving.

"When is Fiero due back?" was the first question she asked upon his entry, "The sooner he comes, the sooner you'll realise that I am no threat."

"You did manage to make it here covertly and you tricked one of my guards," he reminded her calmly, "So, you are not as silly as you look," he said this with a dead pan face. Genevieve couldn't tell if he was impressed or not.

"Fiero is a few weeks away, possibly a month," he continued, "In the meantime, I have procured the services of a priest who will visit you tomorrow. Hopefully, some retrospection of the holy ways will keep you out of trouble."

"Thank you. What do you do here?" she asked on the off chance that he was in easy spirits, "Besides bossing the other men around." He was not.

"You will refer to me respectfully as 'Sir'," Sinacore flashed a reproachful look at her. His blue eyes were a stormy grey and his eyebrows knitted, "And it is not wise for you to be questioning me given that you are still under scrutiny." He took his leave soon after arriving, by bowing and locking the door behind him. Genevieve shivered as though the man had left winter with her. She wished more than ever for Fiero's return. She went to the drawer and drew the jacket, checking that the tokens were still sewn into the back. Genevieve sighed.


	16. Chapter 16

The priest came. He was a stout, fat man with a bald head and a nose to look down upon everyone with. The guard let him in without any introduction and left as quickly as he had come. The priest peered at Genevieve.

"Father, I am so glad you have come," she said, with a curtsey. The priest instructed her to go over to him, kneel and kiss his ring. This was out of the ordinary and she hesitated before acquiescing. His hand felt unnaturally cold and soft. He blessed her.

"Child why do they keep you locked up?" he asked, inviting her to sit at the desk she had pulled into the middle of the room.

"They are suspicious of me," she admitted.

"Did you do something wrong?"

"They don't know me. I turned up... unexpectedly."

"Hmmm," he replied thoughtfully. He then suggested that they prayed first. Which apparently meant that Genevieve was to say a Hail Mary and he was to listen.

"Please, Father, may I confess?"

"Not until after you read from the Bible," he told her and opened the Bible he brought to a page and then pushed it toward her. Genevieve frowned. The life of the Crusader she had taken was playing on her mind. She needed to repent.

Still, she did as the priest bid her to do and began reading the passage he had chosen for her. He made some vague attempt at creating a sermon out of the readings he had selected.

Getting up, he instructed her to read again and while she was doing that, hit her hard. Seeing stars, she shielded her head from a second blow and fell out of her chair in an attempt to get away.

She called for help but he was upon her with his rosary, attempting to choke her with it. He bashed her head against the edge of the desk and she passed out.

Genevieve came to with a throbbing headache but she couldn't move her arms to rub the back of her head. Something tasted dry in her mouth but she couldn't spit it out. Her head lolled forward uncomfortably stiff and it took her a few minutes gather the mentality she needed to see what was to be done with her hands. The air brushed against her skin as though she was about to step into a bath. Horror sunk in as her eyes revealed her naked self! Tugging on her arms in an effort to cover her breasts revealed that she had been tied to the bed! The gag in her mouth prevented her from crying out and it tasted acrid. Genevieve desperately looked around the room.

The priest finished tying off her foot. He was panting from effort. His eyes feasted on her bare skin. Her skin crawled in revulsion. Breathing hard drew his attention to her breasts and he leaned forward to touch them. Screaming as much as the gag allowed her, she struggled but could only chafe her wrists and ankles. His hands were soft but grabbed hard and his greasy smile gave away his intention. Fear raced through Genevieve's heart and her soul went quiet, hope chased away by a cowering despondency. She muttered curses through the bondage at him.

"Silence, child. You will thank me when I am done," he told her. Her blood ran cold and she struggled against her restraints all the more, screaming as much as she could. The priest backhanded her. His rings cut her cheeks and fast, warm fluid flecked her collarbone and breasts. Tears flushed from her eyes and she flinched as he drew his hand back again.

Something knocked.

A blessed knock! The priest frowned and wandered over to the door, fixing his robe and collecting his calmness. He had managed to wipe the sweat from his face and he opened the door a fraction.

"What is this intrusion?" he demanded. Genevieve made as much noise as she possibly could. The priest ignored her and continued talking. "No, she is in the midst of repenting, interruption at this point is disrespectful." After a short one-sided discussion that lasted an eternity, and Genevieve's agonising and muffled yells and aching wrists, the door slammed open.

Sinacore surveyed the scene with a bearing of deep dissatisfaction. His eyes found Genevieve's and she heaved a sigh of relief and her panic subsided swiftly. The priest tried to run but Sinacore was quicker, enveloping him into a hug and choking the fat, limp excuse of a man. He lifted the body gently to the floor. Calmly, he closed the door and made his way over to her.

Still half naked, Genevieve flushed a furious red colour and couldn't look at Sinacore as he approached her. If she had, she would've seen that neither could he look at her properly until he pulled a bed cover up to her collar and tucked it over her shoulder. She shivered involuntarily for the warmth it brought. Ashamed but not knowing why the shame was her's, she kept her eyes adverted as he undid her gag and focused on staying her rushing heart, slowing her breathing and what she should do next. He moved quickly to her hands and allowed her room to pull the covers closely around her as he cut the ties to her ankles too. Then he tossed the knife to the bed and stood, facing away from her.

Genevieve gathered the covers, deliberately taking her time. As she gathered the material, she gathered her strength around her and her consciousness too. She tied the cloth over her shoulder and leaned down. The knife glinted at her, shining her way to righteousness. The priest was still passed out near the doorway and she looked to him with purpose after a short deliberation. In her mind's eye, he was already dead. It was only a matter of killing him. The weight of responsibility felt heavy in her hand as she walked over to the body.

A shadow blocked her way.

"That look in your eye wants retribution," Sinacore rumbled quietly like a storm from miles away. He stood before her without her registering his movement, "But there is no honour in killing an unconscious man."

"Then lock him up until he wakes and I'll look him in the eye when I sink this blade into his neck," Genevieve demanded, mimicking his calm and his tone. Sinacore blinked I what was probably surprise. He was hard to decipher.

"I do not doubt you, but," a slight shake of his head, "This is not a place for killing."

"You're defending this sick excuse for a human being?!" she shrieked and then clicked it, "You let him walk and you are condoning his actions and allowing him to continue this disgusting behaviour. There is no telling how many other women he has successfully violated. Nor how many who will be violated by him if you let him leave. You're his accomplice," she told him. Sinacore heaved a low lengthy, strained sigh and his jaw clenched, wriggling an angry vein at his temple. The blade she tossed carelessly away clattered against the bookshelf and fell resolutely to the floor as she said coldly, pinning Sincaor with her eyes, "Get out and take your master with you." She turned away from him and picked up the mirror. She sat heavily and tried pinching the split tender skin on her check together. Too angry to care, she didn't notice how long it took for Sinacore to drag out the priest, bow or lock the door.

When he was gone, Genevieve's anger turned to exhausted relief and she cried. Her tears were for her own sake. She expected no one else to cry for her. This would be the second time that she was nearly raped. She wiped the blood and tears from her face and held herself.

Servants came and informed Genevieve of a bath that had been prepared for her, on Sinacore's orders. Silently, without so much as a smile for anyone, she took it and scrubbed every square inch of her skin red in the hot water. Lazing until it went tepid she considered thanking Sinacore – something she had neglected to do. But no, what had he done that any decent man wouldn't do? Or woman, for that matter? Chivalry was not something to applaud, it served only to flatter the man's ego and women remained dependant on their valour. Genevieve would be more grateful if he had agreed to train her to defend herself. Perhaps she would've been better prepared in this scenario. She replayed out the scene, the priest grabbing her, Genevieve twisting out of reach, drawing her short sword, parrying, ducking and finally sinking the steel into his big, soft belly. The priest's eyes would go wide as life winked from his soul. He'd fall to the floor, dead as a door nail. Geneveive would remove her hood…

The door opened, and Genevieve woke up quickly to a rapidly cooling bath. The servant left a towel and some clothes and retreated. Genevieve sadly remembered that she was still a prisoner. Albeit one with considerable privileges. As she climbed out of the bath, her skin a wrinkly sheet of washed bed linen, she reconsidered thanking Sinacore. She would have to scrub her insides if he hadn't arrived in the timely manner that he had.

What if the priest had put a child in her? The thought made her shudder. She had never been with a man before. The only liberty she truly had was almost so easily taken away. It frightened her to her core. She owned her virginity, but only if she could prevent a man from taking it.

Again, Genevieve resolved that she would be more grateful if Sinacore had agreed to train her to defend herself. He seemed to hold himself in high esteem, but it would highlight an uncommon foresight about women's plight in his character if he agreed. His agreeance hinged on Sinacore's ability to see past his own ego. She would ask again now that she had mounting proof that perhaps she should be allowed to train. Next time she saw him, she promised herself.

Her room appeared as though nothing had happened. The spilled ink had been scrubbed from the wooden flooring, the bed sheets replaced with crisp white ones, the books replaced on the shelf and her desk in total order. How easy it was to forget that horrific acts were made every day. The only evidence of palimpsest was a chip in the shelf where she had hurtled the sword at it. Every day would move on like the one before, bringing no change. Genevieve frantically searched through her drawers for her jacket. The familiar heavy material made her think of Fiero. Genevieve declined a walk with the guard when he came, preferring to sit at the window and consider her own feeble existence.


	17. Chapter 17

Genevieve went quiet over the next few days. She spoke with no one, not the servants and not the guards. Ate, walked, sat and observed. Too much in her own mind, she brooded about her ordeal. Sinacore didn't come to see her. That was disappointing. Genevieve was expecting an apology from him, seeing as he was the one who had invited the imposter priest. She believed that Sinacore played a part in this, albeit inadvertedly. She also wanted to know what he had done with the pig of a man. But angrily consider her captor as much as she did, she didn't hear footsteps, didn't see his face nor did she hear him. This made her angrier. Sinacore had proved what his mettle was made of. He was not like Fiero, who dealt with attackers quickly and appropriately, judging from the first time she met him. Again, she wished it was Fiero who had found her – he'd know exactly what to do.

The guard Giovanni came for her and she silently pulled on her jacket and followed him out the door and down to the olive garden. Giovanni led and she followed, not having any better ideas. Her thoughts turned forlornly to Fiero and when he would come for her.

"Sir!" Elvera appeared from around the hedge and ran toward Giovanni in a panic. She panted and flapped her arms distractedly.

"There is a fire!" she cried at the guard, "You must attend the east wing immediately. Vie!" She flurried him away, saying that she will guard Genevieve. Giovanni looked suspicious but concerned as he went to give his aid.

"Elvera, should we go and find more help?" Genevieve asked shocked and wondering where they would draw water from to douse the flames before they took the magnificent structure. The easy laughing woman did what she did best, laughed.

"Genevieve, there is no fire! I took a leaf out of your book!" she giggled squeezing Genevieve's hand and suddenly turned serious, "I've been searching for an excuse to see you since I heard about what happened. Are you alright?" She hugged her tightly. In an instant the weight of everything slipped away from Genevieve's shoulders and she hugged back, appreciating the kind woman a thousand times again.

"I'm alright," she sighed, "I had not expected a priest to do such a thing."

"No!" Elvera agreed, "Me either! But thankfully nothing has happened. I am due back in the kitchen shortly."

"Can I come with you? It's been a long time since I've done any work and this way I'll appear to be out of trouble." Elvera and Genevieve walked together, taking care not to be seen. They cursed the priest and rained blasphemies upon him as they walked.

"Quickly, stay close to me," Elvera encouraged Genevieve, holding her hand, "Luigi, the Head Servant, will be walking away from the kitchen after he has checked up on lunch preparations. Look there he is!" Elvera pointed through the window. Sure enough, a tall man with an overbearing stature was walking past the very window that Elvera pointed at. He held a book in hand and didn't look left or right. "Head down!" she giggled, "Stay next to me." They strolled with their heads bowed together as though deep in conversation. It wasn't long before they came to the servant entrance to the busy kitchen.

The whole kitchen stopped as they walked in. At least ten servants eyed her suspiciously as she passed. Genevieve didn't care. The heavenly scents and warmth reminded her of home.

"Genevieve, is here to help," Elvera said excitedly and appealing to man with a meat cleaver. He shrugged his indifference and motioned for everyone to get back to work. Obviously too busy to care about the prisoner who didn't want to escape.

"Allora!" Elvera showed Genevieve how she was going to make farfalle and they stood together at the bench with their measuring tools, bowls and cutting tools. Elvera talked the whole time and Genevieve laughed with her. It was perhaps the most human she had felt in a long time. Time slipped away and hours passed without Genevieve noticing. They served up lunch and managed to steal a few mouthfuls for themselves.

The day passed and Genevieve found herself still in the kitchen before the dinner rush. She had washed dishes and made bread. The kitchen was at it's busiest. In the midst of dishing up countless plates, a familiar voice found her.

"Genevieve," Sinacore appeared relaxed and comfortable in the kitchen space, as though he had been commanding it all his life. It probably wasn't far from the truth. His regal countenance followed him everywhere. It must've only been Genevieve who noticed the sidelong glances he received from the servants pretending not to listen in to their conversation.

This was the first she had seen him since the priest tried to rape her. As always, his grave appearance gave away nothing of his thoughts as he considered Genevieve. Determined not to feel the shame from when he had to cover her naked body, she drew on his tranquil nature and returned his gaze levelly. "How is it that this continues to happen?" he asked.

"They're your guards. You should ask them... Sir," she replied and stopped herself from smirking at Elvera on fear of getting her into trouble, "Besides, I obviously want to stay. I don't see why you go to such strenuous lengths to make sure that I do."

"Your protection is for everyone's benefit," he replied shortly.

"Clearly," she replied just as shortly. He frowned at her.

"In any case, please walk with me. Dinner will nearly be ready, I have some news for you and the Master would like to see you."

Genevieve turned away and laboriously took off her apron. She was excited for some news from Fiero but being in the company of the only man to see her naked was not how she wanted to receive the prized information. Still, Sinacore was waiting and it would not do to put off that which would inevitably happen. She followed him from the kitchen, casting a wistful look back at Elvera who waved as happily as always. How Genevieve wished to be an invisible servant instead of a prisoner under suspicion!

They walked side by side through the castle for a short time before Sinacore spoke.

"I am horrified for what happened to you," he said hesitantly, "Please know that I take full responsibility and offer my humblest apologies." Genevieve made no reply. Still brooding despite the long-awaited apology. Unable to look at him she cleared her throat.

"Being a prisoner is tedious. I'm not a lady of stature and I don't expect to be treated like one. Will you at least let me work in the kitchens?" she asked after a few minutes, "Anything than to spend a majority of my time in that despicable room."

Sinacore considered this for a minute. The second hand on a grandfather clock chirped punctually as they passed it. His face cheerfully watching after their progress.

"How many shifts would you take?"

"Early morning and late afternoon I think would be best, that way I can still have some exercise at midmeal." He considered this for a short while, taking his time to make a decision. This conversation was nearly as tedious as being a prisoner was.

"I'll tell the guards and servants to expect you in the kitchens," Sinacore said eventually, "You'll be escorted by the guards and paired with a servant to ensure you stay here. If anything out of the ordinary happens, I will hold you responsible."

"Thank you. Sir."

There was a short silence, then, "I am marginally disappointed with you," he said, in an odd tone of voice. Was it amusement?

"Only marginally? How uncharacteristic of me," she replied. He allowed her sarcasm but cast her a sidelong glance.

"I expected you to enquire about training again."

"Well if you didn't voluntarily reach the conclusion that training me would be to my own benefit given recent events then it is a lost concept on you." He arched an appraised eyebrow at her.

"I concur."

"Chivalry doesn't do women any ... what did you say?"

He smiled, a rare gem of a smile. It made him look ten years younger and disappeared quickly, "I said, I concur. As such, I asked the Board weather we have room to include you within our novice training regime. Until Fiero gets here. We started a new round of recruits not too long before you turned up. You haven't missed much. If you're keen, it won't take you long to catch up... "

Genevieve bit her tongue. She would not thank the man for finally doing what she asked after she was nearly raped.

"... the decision will be made tonight..."

"Why do you train recruits?"

He stopped and looked at her curiously, "I know that Fiero hasn't told you anything about what we do. But surely you can guess why we have recruits."

"To train them to be like Fiero?"

"More or less. You won't have the same opportunities as the other recruits. I anticipate that it won't be an issue because your goal is to learn to defend yourself," he continued walking, "Which is what they are learning right now. I'll let the Master explain further. You'll remember him, he was the man you were first brought to when you arrived..." Genevieve trailed after him, thinking hard. Sinacore was offering her what she had been asking for – a chance to learn self-defense. To learn to fight like a man.

"You said you asked the Board. What does that mean?... Sir?"

"Your request is highly unusual, given your gender. If any of the other trainers don't agree than you won't be included. Simple as that," Sinacore paused in front of a door and looked at her full in the face, "You're about to meet them. Are you ready?" Genevieve nodded before she could think twice.

"No wait," she changed her mind quickly flinging out a hand at Sinacore. He frowned at being touched on the chest and she withdrew it quickly, embarrassed. "What news is there of Fiero, please Sir?"

"None." With that, he pushed open the door and motioned for her to go inside. With a heart that was not so glad as her mind, she entered the large dining room.

The Master already sat waiting for them with two other men and Luigi, whom she recognised from seeing through the windows before. He was the Head Housekeeper and watched her with a curious tilted expression that blended into a neutral face as soon as she saw it. The other two men were complete opposites of each other – one, tall, thin and clean shaved, the other, short, round and beardy as a sailor.

Despite Sinacore bringing her into the room, Luigi was the one who introduced her to the men and vice versa. The Master was simply The Master. The tall man was Falco. He was a military cavalry expert. The short man was Lazzari, who specialised in long range weaponry. Neither seemed too pleased for Genevieve to be there and she offered them no smile. If her request hung in the balance here, then she would sway it with whatever she had to say.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she said, eyeing each carefully.

"Genevieve," the Master addressed her with his kind eyes and motioned for her to sit at the expansive table. There were places enough for 30 people and yet, only the small party of five sat together at one end. Luigi stood off to the side, observing. The livery in the room was of a quality that Genevieve hadn't seen before in her life and she was slightly ashamed at the maid's dress that she wore in contrast to the fine cloth that the men wore. Determined not to show her self-consciousness, she raised her chin and thanked them for seeing her, speaking as though she had been expecting it for some time.

"What do you intend to achieve through your training?" asked Falco, straight to the point.

"To defend myself, Sir," she replied.

"Yes, but don't you have marriage prospects and therefore a man to defend you?" asked Lazzari, "Why would you need to defend yourself?"

"Sir, I am a pauper who owns nothing. My family are dead so I don't have a dowry to offer. I have no illusions about my position in life - I'm worth nothing," she replied simply, "No man would marry me and my prospects are limited to servanthood and prostitution."

"Surely there would be some man of your same stature in want of a wife," Sinacore intoned next to her. This was a dramatically broad statement that annoyed Genevieve.

"Yes, in want of a wife. But not in want of a dead weight that offers nothing. Sir," she replied, "Neither am I desperately in want of a husband who cannot take care of me."

"People marry out of love all the time," Falco said with a wispy wave of his hand as though the very idea suggested was not for him.

"Respectfully, Sir. Love is for the wealthy. My life is about survival. To survive, I will need to know how to defend myself. It will prevent others from taking advantage of me at best," she said delicately. This was not a conversation to be had with strangers usually. "I think the correlation is absolutely clear." The gentlemen fell into thought for some time. Genevieve watched each man's face as they considered her words. She hoped she was not being too forward or blunt. Short of saying that she would die without the training, she was treading a thin line. The next man who spoke lost.

"Let's say we accept," the Master injected, speaking for the first time since inviting her to sit down, "There are other issues about your training that we have to consider."

"Yes," agreed Lazzari, "You will be a distraction to the recruits. They won't be able to think straight."

"They'll be too busy courting you," Falco added.

"Training me amongst your men would be a good way to see who can put aside their base urges and complete tasks," Genevieve asked the men, "Do you really want to rely on men who are so easily distracted among your ranks?" This silenced the men for some time as they considered her words.

"What if it's you we don't trust?" asked Sinacore. Genevieve could not believe that he was asking this question after he found her nearly raped by the priest. And Sinacore said **he** had put her request to the other trainers. What kind of question was that!?

"Then why are we having this conversation?" she asked coldly.

The Master made a movement with his hand, to which Luigi bowed slightly and left. Watching Luigi go and wondering what it meant, Genevieve questioned the Master with a look. But he was drawing the attention of Falco and Lazzari.

"Any final thoughts?" They shook their heads. "Sinacore?" Sinacore did the same. The Master looked at Genevieve and leaned forward. "Genevieve, you may train with the men until Fiero arrives. Be on your guard though, men will often say one thing and do another." Her mind did small leaps for joy. It took quite some effort to stop herself from grinning from ear to ear. This was her chance to prove to herself that she could defend herself.

"Do not expect any special treatment," warned Falco.

"Understood, Sir," she replied, nodding.

"Any interventions provided for you are the same that would be provided for any of the recruits," Lazzari iterated.

"Yes, Sir."

"Come ready to fight men and don't be disappointed if they best you," Sinacore advised. Luigi came back, just as the conversation ended, with dinner in tow.


	18. Chapter 18

The days flew past so quickly that Genevieve forgot how long she had been at the castle for. There wasn't time for much thought or consideration of anything else. She woke early in the morning, before the sun. This was still her favourite part of the day. The castle exuded a quiet hush and their footsteps echoed down the hallways as she was escorted to the kitchens. Genevieve walked quickly, in front of her guard, leading the way, as excited as a baby lamb who knew where her mother was. She powered through her chores in the kitchen, made the day's bread, cleaned the fire pit, washed the dishes, took the scraps from the previous day's food out to the pig pen, chopped vegetables for lunch and churned butter.

When she'd completed her jobs, she raced back up to her room, changed into pants and boots, gifted to her, and ran down to the fields. She was the first person on the field, often practicing while waiting for the others to turn up.

On cavalry days, she would warm up the horses and saddle them with the stablehands. Not for the last time, she was grateful that her drunk father had left most of the horses to her to break in when she was growing up. Born for the saddle, she could ride better than most of the recruits. Falco looked to her to lead examples. She listened and executed moves flawlessly.

On range weapon days she helped set up the targets and quickly learned to sharpen arrows and assemble crossbows. This was new to her and she focused as best as she could. The crossbow was easier for her to manage than the longbow but from the results across the recruits, the bow was more accurate. Lazzari corrected her stance more often than not and she missed most of her targets. She tracked her own progress, noting how marginally she improved.

On hand-to-hand combat days, Genevieve was bested in every match, in every possible way. No amount of early practice helped her. The men outpaced her with muscle mass despite her tenacious efforts to administer the instructions closely and quickly. They simply were too big, too strong and too confident of themselves. She nursed a number of minor injuries simultaneously during sessions. There wasn't much Sinacore would do for her. "Vieve!" he would yell at her because yelling 'Genevieve' was not conducive for the battle field, "If you can't block and counter, get out of the way!" All she could do was pick herself off the ground and try again. And again. And again.

The afternoon shift in the kitchen's saw her exhausted but happy. Genevieve's arms hurt, her legs ached, her back was sore constantly but when her head hit the pillow at night, she was instantly asleep.

Sleep restored her.

Each morning, she would spring out of bed and hurry down to the kitchen, determined to complete her tasks before going to training. In spite of her short-comings with some aspects of her training, she couldn't remember being happier.

One day, after training, The Head Housekeeper, in his somber stature and unflinchingly firm ways, told her that she was to wait in a sitting room for a meeting. He declined to offer her any other details and sent her on her way quickly, dressed as she was in her pants and layered shirts. These were her training gear and she didn't consider it appropriate for any reception. However, perhaps this was part of being treated like a man. A man would not worry about his attire if there was a meeting that he was involved with. He would concern himself with the meeting. And so too did Geneveive. Knowing it was useless to attempt to glean information from Luigi, she was escorted to the room in question by a guard.

She admitted herself into the empty room. It was not yet cold and the room was a pleasant temperature. She sat in a chair and waited, hoping her calm and confidence didn't betray any eagerness or anxiety.

The doors burst open a full half an hour later and in strolled Fiero, in his usual attire: the white hood, leather ornaments and soft leathered boots. Her heart fluttered to life. And within that moment, Genevieve wished she'd had time to change into something infinitely more appealing.

Fiero strode over to her as she rose. He said her name as though he were in a dream. She stood there, dumb, as he unerringly drew her into a close hug. Surprised but content, she hugged him back. Genevieve wanted to melt into the contact, merging herself with the strong man.

"Don't mention anything about the tokens or red crosses until I say," he whispered so quietly to her, snapping her out of her reverie. Genevieve nearly misunderstood. His strange behaviour added to his odd familiarity with her and also added to his mystery. Her thoughts flew to the tokens and her jacket. Genevieve wondered why and wondered when she'd get to ask that question. If she got to ask that question.

Still in Fiero's warm embrace, Genevieve saw that Sinacore had followed Fiero in and was waiting patiently, arms behind his stiff back. His face was indecipherable as always.

"I'm glad you're okay," Fiero murmured with concern, letting her go and holding her at arm's length so he could see her. He nodded at her encouragingly. All the things that she had planned to say vanished. The Lombardi family flashed in her mind's eye. She hadn't thought about them for a long time and it threw a shadow over her happy heart. It was hard to look Fiero in the face.

"Fiero, your family. They're... I..." she stammered but he motioned for her to sit and sat with her.

"Genevieve, you must explain to us what happened at the Inn," Fiero told her, holding her hand firmly in his, "Sinacore has to hear it too. What happened?"

Sinacore sat across from them and fixed an expectant eye on her. She couldn't look at him and think at the same time. He applied an unspoken pressure with his judging eyes.

She couldn't look at Fiero and think either. He was larger than life now more so than ever sitting next to her. He placed his own parameters on what she could say. He wanted her to lie to Sinacore. Conflicting emotions fought with each other.

The window offered her a slight reprieve and she gazed past the glass at the flowering summer's day as she swiftly reconstructed her story.

"The Lombardi's were eating their night meal. They had dismissed me while they were down there in the dining room and asked me to clean up after them when they'd finished. I don't know. Luca had wanted to spend some time with Marcella and the children," at their mention, she faltered and took a deep breath. Their faces floated in front of her and she gritted her teeth, "When I went down to see if they had finished, they were face down in their plates. Each with a slit throat. I didn't know what to do. There wasn't anyone else in the Inn. They had laid off all their staff for the summer. There weren't any guests. There was no one but me. I'm so sorry Fiero. I didn't see anything!"

"Why did you run?" asked Fiero, "Why not wait for help?"

"It was only me," Genevieve replied and swallowed hard, "I'm just a servant. A nobody. They'd be looking for someone to blame. They'd crucify me."

"Do you know who killed them?" asked Sinacore. Genevieve shook her head 'no'.

"No one came and no one went to my knowledge," she confirmed.

"So why come here?" Sinacore asked.

"I didn't know I was going to end up here. Fiero had given me an address a long time ago, in case I needed help and I followed that. When I saw the men packing up to leave, I made an executive decision," Genevieve stopped and looked to Fiero for some guidance. He nodded. "I'm sorry, Fiero, I am. I didn't know how else to find you on short notice."

"I already knew. Whoever it was had set the Inn on fire," Fiero said. Genevieve didn't ask how he already knew. Given the amount of people who flocked to the streets that night, she didn't wonder at all. Tragic news travelled faster than anything else.

"I'm sorry about your family. They were truly kind people." Fiero squeezed her shoulder and nodded once again. Genevieve was sure that he was meant to say something but he didn't utter another word on the matter. Unsure what to do next and unused to such weighty, private conversations made in front of others, she looked to Sinacore. His thoughtful face gave away nothing as his eyes flickered between herself and Fiero.

Fiero let her hand go and stood up, agitated, "You know, I don't understand why you didn't tell Sinacore or the Master all of this when you first got here," he scolded her. Genevieve froze. His attitude had changed in an instant. Confused, Genevieve wondered what secrets he was hiding from Sinacore. Or the Master.

"I... didn't... This is not news to be delivered by proxy. I had to tell you myself," she replied defensively going with whatever he was saying. After all, he did have a right to be angry. His family was lost to him.

"Fiero, this is not a normal occurrence for anyone, let alone Genevieve..." Sinacore interjected quietly.

"No, it's not," Fiero agreed, turning his anger toward the older man with a glance, "Nor should it ever be. You are not helping this situation Sinacore. Our training is vigorous and unforgiving and you allow a woman to join you!?" he glared at Sinacore who bore it with grace. Unconcerned by Fiero's anger, he made no reply but there was a power play between them distinguishing a line that had been crossed in the exchange.

Unable to match Sinacore's cool, Fiero abandoned his attack on him and turned to Genevieve once again. "Genevieve, you must stop this nonsense with your training," he told her seriously and pointedly, "There's no way that it will end favourably. You could be hurt, killed or permanently maimed. And then how will you expect a husband to support you? This is not behaviour conducive to young women."

Without confirming or denying Fiero's statements, she asked "What happens now?" looking to Fiero for direction. He frowned and pitied her with his gaze. The sigh he emitted pitied himself.

"I'll find something for you," he told her. Genevieve was reminded of him finding solutions for her in the past – first with her mother's medicine and then finding her a job and board. She did not mention that she wanted to stay at the castle. There was no way to tell if she would be allowed to stay with all of his secrets.

She felt herself torn again. Here she had a purpose. Here she was almost an equal. The thought of giving it up was not what she wanted. What was the Master saying about men who say one thing and think another?

But this was Fiero's domain. His world. Not her's. She was a passer-by. A nobody. Far be it for her to stay where she is clearly unwanted.

"Don't worry, I'll find a place for you. I expect you to be dressed like a woman the next time I see you. If you aren't, I will have trouble with finding a suitable position for you." Without waiting for her answer, he gave her a time-frame of two months and swept from the room. Sinacore watched him go then fixed Genevieve with a calculating look. He said nothing for a short time. Genevieve could not wait that long and she turned away from him, rubbing her face, willing him to leave. Her emotions taxed her composure and she wanted to sob and be done with it. Nothing had turned out the way she had hoped and she was cast into uncertainty, once again.

In the end, Sinacore issued her with a low 'goodnight' and he bowed himself out, in his usual style. As soon as the door was closed, Genevieve sobbed, her face scrunched up with the effort of containing herself for a few seconds more while Sinacore walked away from the other side of the door. The horror of that fateful night played over and over in her mind without abandon – a memory she had repressed until now. The Lombardi's lifeless faces and warm blood oozing from their throats, the resistance of her persuer's throat when she sunk the blade into it and the terror in which she fled the doomed Inn flooded her mind's eye and she descended into helpless involuntary crying. It was hours before she could clear her head and move from her spot.

She didn't know what game Fiero was playing but she had to wait for him once again.


	19. Chapter 19

"Genevieve."

There was a knock late that night. Genevieve woke with a start and sat up, listening closely.

The knock came again. "Genevieve, it's me." She pulled a shawl around her shoulders and went to open the door. Fiero stood there like an extension of the darkness, his expression impossible to see. He slid in through the gap that Genevieve had opened, inviting himself into her room. A little put off, she closed the door and turned to him. He stood between the moon rays streaming in her windows.

"Do you still have those tokens with the red cross?" he asked immediately.

"Did you know those men would be looking for them?"

But he wasn't listening as he looked around the room. Genevieve's temper mounted and she poked a finger at him.

"It was your fault! They were looking for the tokens. You put your family in danger! They died because of you!" she snarled.

"What men?"

"Men wearing the symbol on the tokens you gave me."

"You don't know what you're talking about," he told her dismissively.

"No but I know where the tokens are and you won't get any of them until you tell me what this is all about."

"Genevieve, you don't know the game you're playing," he warned her.

"You don't tell me anything! How am I supposed to know!"

"You owe me," he threatened her, "You owe me for killing those men who were going to rape you, for getting your sick mother's medicine and for rescuing you when you lost your job. If you just do what I tell you to everything will be fine."

"It's not fine for your brother or your sister-in-law, or your niece, or your nephew," she countered, steeling herself, "They died! You don't seem to care!" He lunged forward to grab her but she saw it coming and threw a chair in his way and scooted toward the door.

"Okay!" he said, calmly, putting the chair aside, "I'm sorry I put you in danger. Tell me what you want."

"I want to know who those men are. I want to know why the tokens are important enough to kill for. I want..."

"It's not going to happen," he shook his head, "It's too dangerous. You were at the Inn, you should know that."

"I'll give the tokens to Sinacore."

"You're lying. You don't have the tokens here. You left them at the Inn."

Genevieve put her hand on the doorknob and turned.

"Fine! The men who burned the Inn down belong to an organisation called the Templars," he blurted, "They want to transform the world as we know it to create a utopian controlled future. They believe that ruling with an iron fist will get rid of all the horrible things about humans like alcoholism, fighting, adultery, murders, stealing. I'm not telling you anymore until you give me one of the tokens."

"No. Why do you slink around at night, turning up with wounds and stealing expensive tokens?" Fiero hesitated before he replied.

"I'll tell Sinacore that you're been sleeping with all the recruits. I'll bet I can get the recruits to back me up," he threatened, "I wonder what the upstanding man would do when he finds that out." Genevieve went quiet. If Fiero told Sinacore that she had been sleeping with the recruits, even when she hadn't, she would surely be kicked out especially since Fiero appeared to have finished with her. "We are in a stalemate."

"What's that?" she asked.

"Haven't you played chess?" Fiero asked. Genevieve didn't reply. Of course she hadn't, chess was for the wealthy. He groaned a little, "It means that neither of us wins in this situation." He was right. If she told Sinacore about the tokens there was no saying what Sinacore would do. She didn't know the game and didn't know what the outcome would be but she assumed that Fiero would get into trouble. She didn't know what would happen to herself. Fiero telling Sinacore that she was sleeping around was bad for her. Neither of them got what they truly wanted.

"I will find you a good job somewhere and 20 florin to help set you up," Fiero bribed, "The deal is that you have to give me the tokens the next time I'm here and walk away. You won't hear of any of this ever again. If you don't give me the tokens, I'll tell Sinacore that you're a whore and he'll kick you out quicker than an eye blink."

"I want 100 florin," she blurted, attracted to the mention of coin. It would solve a lot of her problems. Besides, did she really want to know about the organisation that would kill for a few tokens? It was none of her business.

"60 florins but you're not allowed to train with the recruits."

"Why not?'

"It's non-negotiable. I'll ask Sinacore to keep you as a servant though. At least you'll be useful while you wait for me to come back." Genevieve considered this carefully. 60 florins and a good job would give her time to work out what it was she really wanted to do. She didn't want Fiero anymore, seeing now that he had only used her. She accepted. Fiero left without any ceremony and Genevieve was once again alone in the world.

The excitement of life in general sapped from Genevieve. Sleep evaded her after Fiero left her room. Depressed about her misconceived perceptions of the man she once idolised, Genevieve struggled to see through the cloud of her mind. She rose the next morning and took herself to work in the kitchens, as she had done for the last few weeks. This time, there was no guard. She volunteered for the boring jobs – peeling potatoes – and set herself up in front of a window, out of everyone's way. There she sat until well into mid meal, not even looking at her hands that worked mechanically without conscious thought of what they were doing. She had peeled potatoes, sweet potatoes, onions, carrots, pumpkin and all sorts of other vegetables. Speaking to no one, she was not even happy when Elvera arrived. Evidently, Elvera noticed that there was no consoling the woman either for she had tried with all manner of talk and laughter. Eventually, Elvera left Genevieve to her own devices.

Late afternoon brought a shift change and the new servants eyed the odd girl at the window, eyes fixed sadly on a point outside of the kitchen and peeling vegetables by feel alone. They asked no questions and she offered no answers.

This went on for three days straight. It wasn't until before morning meal on the third day that anything changed.

"Vieve," Sinacore's now familiar voice reached from behind her and she promptly nicked her left hand forcing her to stop. The sting echoed through her arm and she her hand bloomed with bright red blood. Sinacore was quick to grab a towel though, and he wrapped her hand to stem the flow. The usual hustle, bustle of the kitchen echoed behind him and he seemed as much part of the busyness as the food on the table.

"Thank you, Sir," she said, taking the towel from him and pressing down. The pain faded as she applied the pressure. She didn't look up at him, choosing to stare at the table in front of her. She emitted a vacancy that overtook her usual radiance.

"You disappoint me again."

"I'm getting good at it. Why would I stop now?" she asked roughly. There was a movement next to her and suddenly, they were alone in the kitchen. Sinacore gathered a plate and donned it with some figs and apricots and a fresh knife that he used to cut them into pieces, waiting for her expectantly. She reluctantly shifted over to sit with him.

"You obviously hold Fiero's opinion in high regard," he said as she took half a fig and nibbled at it, "What is the extent of your attachment to him?" Genevieve thought guiltily of the lies she spun for Fiero and of their deal.

"Why does it matter to you?"

He munched on an apricot and inspected the knife for a time before answering, "Up until the other day, you were a strong, independent woman who had an idea about what you wanted and who acted accordingly, despite the social inconsistencies and biased back lashes. You haven't complained once about anything, not your work here or your training though you are constantly beaten. After our brief meeting with Fiero, during which he told you to stop training because its unladylike, you've turned into another woman being bossed around by other men. So, what is it about Fiero that has transformed you from a lioness to a lamb?"

Genevieve inspected the cut on her hand. It oozed blood and she pushed the skin together enjoying the sting much better than her present company.

"I owe him my life twice over," she answered at length.

"That is a hefty price to pay," Sinacore mused, "But you can't die twice for him."

"My options are limited."

"You say that. But consider this: you created a position for yourself in the training program. You earned that," he impressed this upon her with acclaim, her ear leaning towards him more and more, "Besides, Fiero isn't coming back for two months. That's a long time to be miserable in the corner of the kitchen peeling potatoes, dreaming about training. What he doesn't know, won't hurt him," his uncharacteristic attempt at light-heartedness was not lost on Genevieve.

"And what do I do when he comes back and offers me somewhere to go?"

"Then you have options," he smiled a little at her, "You can do as you please." It was a matter of 60 florins. But Sinacore didn't know that. Sinacore hadn't told her directly that he wanted her back at training so she didn't know if that was what he wanted or not. Genevieve suspected it wasn't easy for him to fit her into his regime – there was a lot of things that she simply was not skilled at. She imagined that his training sessions would be easier without her. But here he was, convincing her to continue with her first aspirations of joining their training. Jumping that fence and joining that training, however briefly, had been the first time she had done something original for herself. She loved it.

The next day, she woke up and despite the promise of more coin than she had ever held in her life, she bounced out of bed, took on the difficult chores in the kitchen and was back at training at mid-morning. Sinacore didn't express his pleasure at seeing her and she didn't want him to, for what would be the point? The men groaned though and grumbled at her. She stood tall and resolved to be quicker and smarter than them.


	20. Chapter 20

Training went on for another month and a half. Genevieve noticed a number of changes in herself. It was getting easier to keep up, her body felt stronger. She was becoming more successful in each of the three disciplines, though not totally successful in weaponry or hand-to-hand combat. This also meant that the other recruits were getting stronger and more successful. Their accomplishments seemed to run parallel with Genevieve's.

She was plagued by Fiero's return. She wanted to stay at the castle, training, for as long as possible. Fighting was an addiction to her. It made her feel good, regardless of how many times she was punched, kicked or pushed to the ground. Her few triumphs were worth the pain.

Selection night was approaching quickly. It was all the men would talk about. There was to be a feast to celebrate their progress. They would know if they were good enough to progress to the next level of training or if they were to be sent home. Of the 50 recruits there, only 22 would be accepted as novices. Only the 22 novices would be privy to what the castle housed and what the ultimate goal was. The castle, shrouded in secrecy, was exceptionally good at keep its secrets.

Sinacore approached Genevieve after training one day. She was cleaning and putting away shields in the armoury off the stables. He said her name as he approached her. His face was drawn, as though he embarked on a difficult task. Genevieve could guess what he was about to tell her.

"I'm sorry Genevieve but despite you training with the novices, you are not invited to the selection meal," he said, confirming her suspicions. She looked away, wondering what job Fiero would have for her when he returned in a few weeks. If he had one. A pauper's life was her future. She had forfeited 60 florins by continuing with her training, only to be in the same position anyway. Still, no regrets. She had the capacity to work it out.

"Yes, Sir. It was inevitable."

"I hope we have achieved your goal of learning how to defend yourself."

"Yes, Sir. Definitely did that, though I'm not as good as I would like to be," she attempted a brave smile, "Thank you in any case."

"Fiero is due back shortly. Hopefully he will have organised a suitable job for you. You'll be escorted to wherever he sends you by a guard. You understand that we have to keep the castle's location secret. All of the recruits who don't make selection are treated the same."

"I understand, Sir. Secrets need to be guarded."

"In any case, your services are still required in the kitchen, at least until Fiero comes back. You'll be paid for your efforts in there."

"Thank you, Sir." Sinacore bowed and left her to her own devices swiftly. At least she would not be totally penniless. Perhaps she had earned 10 florins while she was there. That would be enough. She finished cleaning the blade in her hands and sighed as she put it away. Only wealthy people got what they wanted. Everybody else just did what the wealthy people told them.

This shadow hung over Genevieve as the days counted down. Soon, there was no more training to look forward to. A buzz erupted amongst the men as they talked and talked and talked about their future prospects. They had spent good coin for the opportunity to train and each prayed desperately to be chosen for the next round.

Genevieve put her head down further into her work. She blocked her ears by reciting Bible passages, the ones her mother favoured the most, sometimes in her mind. Sometimes she recited them at the top of her lungs, angry as a hot southern wind in summer, but only when she was alone. She knew He hadn't abandoned her. Especially not now that her mother was up there with Him. Her mother wouldn't let Him forget her. It didn't make Genevieve any less angry though.

Luigi approached her as she was hanging out some bed linen. She watched the tall, inscrutable man as he walked along the small path that led from laundry. His arms swung beside him and his black eyes fixed themselves upon her, just as she was watching him. She wondered about his background, where he grew up and how he ended up at the castle working for Sinacore. Luigi bid her a good day and asked for a moment. Genevieve nodded and listened to the man as he told her that Fiero was waiting for her in the reception hall.

Her heart sank. It was too soon. Of course, Fiero would arrive back in time for the selection dinner. There was too much to do before dinner that night and Genevieve didn't have the emotional time to sort through the things she had to deal with.

She nodded again to Luigi and walked with him back up to the castle. They shared a companionable silence and went separate ways once they reached the steamy heat of the laundry.

Genevieve went to get the Godforsaken tokens that had claimed the lives of her comfortable life with the Lombardi's. They had robbed her of any hopeful future with Fiero as well. There would be no peace for her so long as she possessed them. They were cursed relics and she wanted nothing to do with them. She clutched the jacket in her hand and stalked back through the hallways, drawing the eyes of recruits and servants as she passed. She paid them no mind. There were two things she had to do and seeing Fiero for the last time was one of them.

He wore his white hooded attire that Genevieve had copied for him, what seemed like years ago now. The clothes that she considered alluring and mysterious. She knew what kind of person he was now and she was no longer fooled by his reserved countenance.

He lifted his head as she entered and she stalked over close enough to him so that she could toss the jacket toward his feet. The landed with a satisfying 'clump' on the floorboards and slid a little way.

Fiero narrowed his eyes at Genevieve, "You've still been training," he stated. Genevieve stood tall and resolved as though she were facing the men in the training sessions. She watched as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. A jaw that she had once loved the look of. She lifted her chin and nodded. "I told you not to..."

"We made a deal and I forfeited the money only," she interrupted.

"If you so much as consider telling Sinacore, or anyone about these," Fiero threatened, after picking up the jacket and tearing open the seams to fish out the tokens, "I will tell everyone what you truly are. You obviously go looking for trouble, Genevieve, which doesn't add to your reputation. And clearly trouble finds you. The Master told me about your episode with the priest."

"If you think that was _my_ fault than you are not as wise as I had once considered you," she replied.

"That's the second time you've nearly been raped." He was referring to the first time he saved her. "You were lucky I happened to be passing by the first time."

Genevieve clamped her mouth shut. There was nothing she could say on this topic that would allow her any amount of composure.

"I've found you a position at a tailors in Rome," Fiero continued in a quieter voice, assuming he had won the fray and she was now submissive, "They are expecting you within the week. I've made the way for you, organising coaches the whole way down and somewhere for you to stay overnight..."

"Thank you, but I decline your offer of work," she said bravely. Fiero stopped and stared at her. Then he shook his head and muttered something under his breath.

"You can't stay here. I won't allow it."

"I don't know. But I can work it out, Fiero. I do appreciate everything that you have ever done for me," she said, meaning every bit of affection she seeped into her words, "I'll say goodbye now and wish you every success," she replied then turned and left the room, having nothing else to say to the man she had once worshipped.


	21. Chapter 21

The same night as Genevieve's last meeting with Fiero was the celebration. Genevieve safeguarded herself in the chaotic kitchen attempting to mix enough cocoa for the desserts. She had watched the chef bark orders to the servants and seen them scuttle around like ants in a disturbed nest. Thankfully, she dodged having to carry food out to the Main Hall and therefore, needing to see any of the recruits, Falco, Lazzari, Sinacore or the Master. Her plan was to work alongside Elvera, tell her what she planned to do and say a final goodbye.

It was difficult to corner the woman though. Action happened everywhere and in the middle of the whirlwind was Elvera, her happy blonde curls bouncing around as she danced in between the busyness. Geneveive laughed as the woman quickly step-toed a butler fully laden with meat slices balanced precariously on a tray, stealing a piece as she went and licking her fingers joyfully. Her long brown uniform was framed nicely with a long sleeve white shirt and an inside bonnet attempted to tame the curls that spilled from the seams helplessly. Genevieve, and indeed, everyone, wore the same attire however, Genevieve was certain that she was no way near as alluring as her friend. Many of the men laughed and watched Elvera's progress across the room to which she bowed elaborately and smiled at them. Many of the women scolded her and told her to stop fooling around, to which she poked her tongue at them playfully.

"Come, Elvera," she said warmly to the woman, "Help me dip this biscotti." Elvera stood next to Genevieve and fingered a slice of biscotti into her mouth.

"There'll be none left for the men," Genevieve admonished her lightly, "Chef will murder you if he sees!"

"He sees nothing but his round belly and lucky for him, its out there where he can find it easily! He probably hasn't seen his toes since he was fifteen!" Elvera replied and they both burst into giggles, giving the current head chef's ample girth side glances. Elvera force-fed a slice of biscotti to Genevieve who firmly said enough was enough but with an affectionate smile. It was difficult to be cranky with the life-loving woman.

"Elvera!" a voice boomed across the room, "You are wanted to carry plates!" Elvera rolled her eyes at Genevieve and kissed as she pranced away. Genevieve was sure she had smeared evidence of their snacking on her cheek. She watched as Elvera effortlessly swept up four main meal plates and fly out the door in a line of ten other servants. Immediately, a swarm of servants laid out more plates and were madly dishing up. She hoped against all hope for a chance to say a meaningful goodbye to Elvera sometime between the rush of the event.

The announcements would occur after night meal and then the desserts would be brought out. Too engrossed in her job to care she focused on dipping the biscotti and arranging it nicely on the provided plate. Two other desserts would be added for the men had big appetites and sweet desserts were always welcome.

While Genevieve had helpers with her task, she didn't speak with them as openly as she would Elvera. They asked her if she was disappointed to not be included in the selection process. She replied in the negative but didn't offer any details. They asked her what her plans were now, weather she would stay at the castle, but clearly got the message that she didn't want to talk about it quickly. She only offered one-word answers and didn't invite further inquiries.

There was a hush after all the main plates had been taken out and the kitchen staff went from a full gallop into an easy canter and down to a plodding pace as they waited for the men to finish their meal. The rush for dessert would soon begin and Genevieve doubled her speed, knowing that the lull in action was a precursor for the next flurry of activity.

Completely lost in her task, Genevieve didn't hear the kitchen go deathly quiet as Elvera screamed her name from down the servants entrance to the main hall. She flinched when the servant closest to her grabbed her arm to get her attention.

"What?" Genevieve snapped turning an annoyed eye to the woman but saw Elvera breathlessly tearing through the kitchen toward them calling her name. She dropped everything.

"Elvera, what's wrong!?" Genevieve caught the woman and she panted as she clung to Genevieve. She pulled a stool out from under the bench and offered a seat to the overexcited woman. Elvera sucked in huge breaths, her face was red, and Genevieve was relieved to see the woman was laughing. "Elvera! You had me worried! What is going on?"

"They... called... your name," Elvera panted, her face puffed up with the exhaustion of running and laughing, "At the very end... your name was called..."

Genevieve shook her head, "No, you must've misheard. There's a Genovese among the recruits. That's the name they called."

"No, he was called earlier," Elvera replied, her blue eyes laughing as she poked a finger at Genevieve, "It was your name. Genevieve. They called your name. You get to stay!"

"No, that isn't possible," Genevieve continued shaking her head, "No, Sinacore said I wasn't invited and I wouldn't be considered. He said that I would have to decide what I wanted to do when Fiero came back. He said he'd pay me if I wanted to leave..."

"It was your name, Genevieve," Elvera said sternly, her laughter turning earnest when Genevieve didn't believe her. Genevieve couldn't allow herself to think that she had been selected. The disappointment would be unbearable when Sinacore confirmed her thoughts that it was a mistake. She took up her tools again and went back to organising the dessert plates.

"Genevieve..." Elvera said dejectedly as Genevieve ignored her, "Genevieve, I swear it was your name. Don't you want to stay?" But she had closed off every reception of Elvera. The rejected friend set her jaw and stalked off without another word. Genevieve didn't speak for the rest of the night. Not even when other servants confirmed Elvera's assertations. She didn't want to know and accepted instructions only.

It was late into the night and Genevieve was washing some of the dishes. Tired from the excitement of the night she vicariously enjoyed and desired the comfort of her bed. She had successfully compartmentalised Elvera and the words she had been saying. Fiero was sure to lie to Sinacore now. She was sure to be labelled a whore and kicked out. She had to get out before any of that happened. She didn't want to think about it until the morning at least. She attacked the black stain at the bottom of a huge pot with a wire brush. It was one stubborn stain...

"Genevieve."

Her tense shoulders dropped as she sighed audibly. Very audibly. She hoped he heard her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew he would make an appearance before the end of the night.

"No," she shoved the offending pot away from her and turned to glare at Sinacore. Sincaore in turn fixed her with his stupid, calm and patient eye only adding to Genevieve's mounting indignation. Elvera hovered behind him like a hen watching over a chick. "No! I'm tired. I don't want to hear what you have to say, Sinacore. I'm going to bed." She breezed past him, past Elvera and ran back to her room to get ready, praying for privacy.


	22. Part 2 - Chapter 1

Lorenzo was down near the stables early the morning after the celebration, overseeing the preparation of the carts. They would take the rejected recruits back to their respective home towns, scattered across the country. It had been a logistical nightmare to organise and he prayed to God that nothing untoward would befall the travelers. He doubted it. There would be about five or six men to a cart, each trained in defense. They would defend themselves.

Each cart was given salami, cheese and bread for the trip – enough to feed a small army. His thoughts turned to the staff up at the castle and he was again so grateful to have capable people working there. Inevitably, thinking about the staff turned his thoughts to Genevieve.

Genevieve was not in her room or in the kitchen that morning. Lorenzo suspected immediately that it had something to do with the meeting she had with Fiero yesterday. Fiero hadn't wanted her to train and his reaction last night to her name being called was less than graceful. Genevieve had also reacted out of proportion as well, suggesting that there was something Lorenzo didn't know about them. Given what Fiero had voluntarily told him of their relationship, it was unlikely that Fiero had any intention of keeping in touch with Vieve if she chose to take his offer. Lorenzo, regrettably, had no time to speak with Fiero last night. He was too busy congratulating the 21 successful recruits during the course of the night.

It was Lorenzo's opinion that Fiero had acted poorly as an Assassin. Assassins did not revisit people or places repeatedly. And especially not the same person in the same place. There was a risk in doing so that far outweighed any gains. They were men who melted into shadow, seemingly with no ties. Fiero's attentions to Vieve were unclear. Lorenzo even suspected that both weren't saying more than what they wanted to say. As Head of Security, Lorenzo made it his business to understand the things that transpired as Assassins went about their tasks. And as such, Vieve had no idea that Fiero's constant revisits to her had put her and his family in danger. Lorenzo guessed that the Templar's had been watching Fiero and managed to put two and two together.

Vieve was lucky to be alive.

Still, Lorenzo only had one idea as to why Fiero would feel obligated to protect Vieve. Fiero's usual character was socially awkward to say the least. Ladies found him difficult to be around. His position meant that he was marginally coveted but his pride stopped him from making any use of it. There were many times when Lorenzo had felt that his intentions weren't all on the table or perhaps that his actions weren't fully thought through.

Still, Fiero was an Assassin and that deserved respect.

Lorenzo's thoughts were interrupted by Luigi, his Head Housekeeper. The staunch man gave nothing away as he approached. He whispered in Lorenzo's ear and stood aside waiting.

Vieve had been spotted by the outlying guards along the main road heading west. She was wearing plain clothes and carried a rough sack. She kept off the road and was only seen when she crossed it to reach the trees on the other side at the furthest outpost. That she had got so far without being detected was a testament to her audacity. She was a few kilometres from where the western road met the main one.

Evidently, she hadn't taken Fiero's offer. Nor had she stayed to speak with Lorenzo about being offered the novice position. Lorenzo frowned. If she wanted to be covert then she clearly didn't want to be followed. This is what troubled Lorenzo the most. The castle's integrity was compromised.

"Thank you, that's all," Lorenzo dismissed Luigi who melted away, as he was so apt at doing. If he didn't know the Head Housekeeper any better, he'd think he was a ghost.

One of the servants had to ask a question about some of the supplies and drew Lorenzo's attention away from Genevieve temporarily.

As he stood back to watch, he felt the problem arise again. Vieve had sneakily left the grounds. Just as sneakily she had snuck in all those months ago. He remembered the first time he saw her. He had known that she was a woman, despite her best attempt at imitating a man. However, she had fooled the guards. More than once. She had confidently fought the recruits the day she cleverly slipped Giovanni and demanded Lorenzo to train her. He remembered the cool, calm she emitted when she was going to kill the priest. It was that tranquil assuredness that struck him. She repeatedly exhibited the traits it took to be an Assassin. In the back of his mind, she could've been a Templar but that conclusion didn't seem right. These fears were dispelled when Fiero vouched for her.

Lorenzo had searched his mind, heart and soul for a reason not to admit her as a recruit despite the fact that she couldn't pay and could not find one. He sought the Master for guidance. "It's irregular," was the answer he received, and a half shrug, which meant that Lorenzo could use his discretion.

His mind came back to the moment. Here he was, supervising, thinking about a novice who could think for herself and who was leaving without telling anyone.

It would not do.

"I'll return shortly," he told the servants and went to fetch Psyche, his Andalusian. She lifted her head as he saddled her, already excited about going for a run.

With just a squeeze of his legs, Psyche turned and burst into a snowy storm of dapple grey. From the stables she floated down the road that took them past the castle and front gardens. There was a turnoff that brought in roads from three directions, all lead to the main road and they followed the one that headed west. Psyche's easy gait was steady and comfortable as she cantered down the road she knew well.

He didn't know how long it had been since Luigi had brought the news and when he decided to take action. If she was west-bound on foot from where the main road met the main driveway, Lorenzo bet that he could get to the intersection of the west & main roads before Genevieve overshot it. He put his head down and urged Psyche faster, who responded gleefully. Her long legs pumped and her neck stretched out as though it were a race. Dust from the road billowed behind them and Lorenzo wondered briefly what the guards would make of this. They very much liked to talk. So much so, that if they stood in the piazza with the usual fray of people, it would be hard to distinguish a guard from an old woman with nothing better to do than gossip. It was a wonder that they had spotted her at all.

Presently, he pushed the guards from his mind as they approached the main road and eased Psyche into a trot. Lorenzo had not seen Vieve yet and he halted Psyche at the intersection to peer both ways.

It was not a busy thoroughfare as it only connected two insignificant towns. He peered westward but couldn't see a soul. He was 90% certain he had beaten her to the intersection. He walked Psyche east, expecting to come across Genevieve soon.

Round a bend in the road a few minutes later and his bet paid off. Vieve's chocolate brown hair had grown longer in the last couple of months and she wore it tied in a pony tail that barely clung to her head. The bag she held looked as though it had been roughly made and the dress was also plain and patchy. She walked with her eyes fixed resolutely on the ground in front of her. Her despondency spoke volumes.

She glanced up, twice, to see him on-coming and spun in a panic, looking to both sides of the road to escape him.

Lorenzo halted Psyche and waited to see what Genevieve would do. Her conflicting thoughts evidently froze her on the spot in the middle of the road and he swore could hear her sigh from a hundred and fifty meters away. She turned to him again and dropped her bag to the ground.

Taking this as permission to approach, he spurred Psyche until they drew level with the woman.

She looked tired and for good reason. If this was a last-minute plan to leave then she would've been up all night busy finding supplies. Her usual alertness was replaced with a worn-down expression usually akin to old servants who were waiting for their next order.

"Genevieve," he said, jumping down from Psyche only to discover that he had no words to begin this conversation, so he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied hesitantly, pushing through her disdain, then she managed to replace her tiredness with a blank expression. One that reminded Lorenzo of Luigi, "Are you?"

"Yes, thank you. I understand that you left in a rush and didn't have the chance to say goodbye to anyone. That's okay. I would like to walk with you some of the way to see you off. May I?" She blinked uncomprehendingly and looked around.

"You may do as you please," she said semi-sarcastically. Lorenzo was pleased to hear some of her wit emerge.

"Here, while we are walking together, we can hang your bag on Psyche's saddle. She manages to carry me around so I'm sure she won't mind," he said, offering his hand.

"No thank you, Sir, I prefer to carry it," she said, picking it up while giving him a strange look. She began to walk west and Lorenzo fell into step with her. Psyche automatically followed Lorenzo.

"It's made out of a bed sheet from the castle isn't it?" he guessed. She blushed.

"You may remember that I came to the castle with nothing. I'm at least provisioned at the moment, even if I did steal it."

"There's nothing wrong with being prepared. What's your plan?" he asked, passing no judgement on her.

She sighed dejectedly, "Hopefully there will be somewhere along this road that is in need of help. I'm sure I'll find something respectable to do."

"I agree. You don't seem the type of person to sit around and wait for something to happen. You'll board somewhere. Stay in a little town. Find a chambermaid position or assist in a kitchen. Work work work," he paused, "Until you're an old lady. Too old to work and no one to care for you. You'll be cast out from wherever you were staying. Begging in the streets for scraps of food. And then you'll die. They'll bury you in the Church yard. And forget who you were. Another cross-less mound in the ground. Hopefully God will know who you are when you get to heaven..."

"I guess the alternative bears endless possibility," her sarcasm returned.

"You were selected to progress as a novice..."

"For a cause of which I know nothing about."

"At this point in time, what you need to know is that only a selected few of the novices become apprentices, under someone like Fiero. And also that your basic needs will be met."

"You told me that I wasn't eligible," she interrupted angrily, "Did you change your mind?"

"Did you wonder why there were twenty-two novices?"

"No, I didn't," she replied shortly, refusing to look at him, "But I'm sure you'll enlighten me."

"Falco, Lazzari and I all choose seven novices each. The Master choses one. Guess who he chose?" Lorenzo's instinct told him not to lie but to imply something other than what had actually happened. She didn't need to know the true details of her selection.

"Oh," they walked on a few minutes without her saying anything. The day was sunny and pleasant. It was refreshing to be out of doors so early in the morning. "I may have been selected. That doesn't mean I accept," Vieve said sharply.

"If you don't accept, I will need to ask the Master for his second choice and then tell the recruit before he leaves," Lorenzo lied again, applying a little pressure. In truth, they would train the twenty-one who remained. She would not be replaced. Recruiting was a numbers game. Genevieve mulled this over in her mind. Lorenzo hinged his words on the fact that she didn't like to feel dispensable. Again, she sighed. Sighing was a sign of pity for oneself.

"If you listen to Fiero, I am not the kind of person you'd want training with your men." Finally, Lorenzo felt he was about to learn some truth. "He doesn't want me to stay. He says he'll tell everyone that I..." but she sucked in a breath and didn't go on. Just sighed again.

"Is it that bad?"

"I don't expect you to understand. You're..."

"A man? I know. You keep reminding me how difficult it is to be a woman," he teased lightly, "But don't you see the upper hand you have here?" She regarded him with her brown eyes and blinked, then she cocked her head. Interest piqued. "Allow me to paraphrase the situation: you want to stay against Fiero wishes. He will tell the Master or myself something about you that he thinks will stop you progressing as a novice and possibly see you cast out from the castle. He hasn't had the chance yet to speak with either of us. If he has threatened you, now is your chance to get ahead of his threat by coming clean and trusting me to draw my own conclusions."

She didn't reply for some time and they were quickly approaching the intersection Lorenzo had come out of earlier. Genevieve's eyes were cast to the ground, deep in thought. With no idea of what she was thinking he continued.

"You frighten him." She laughed at this. Suddenly. As though it were the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. He stopped and she did as well.

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Believe what you will, but a frightened man issues threats when he feels his control slipping," Lorenzo handed her a bag of coins, "If there is no convincing you, this is for your valued work at the castle these last few months. There's 15 Florin in there, you may pick up another 5 at the Inn in the next town." He rushed a bow and prepared to mount Psyche, checking her saddle before putting his foot in the stirrup. Genevieve stood there, staring at the bag in her hand. It was probably more money than she had ever held in her life.

"He said he'd tell you that I'd been sleeping with the recruits," she admitted suddenly, "... with all of the recruits." Lorenzo took his foot out of the stirrup. This was a damning statement for any woman. He could understand her hesitation in telling him. For now, she refused to meet his eye.

"If that's all, then Fiero chose a weak lie," he told Genevieve. She had been too busy at the castle to even think of anything other than her work and her training. Lorenzo was certain that he hadn't seen the woman stand still for longer than a minute, much less, lie down on her back.

"What if he could get some of the recruits to give evidence?"

"Would they be lying?"

"Of course."

"Then get out of your own way and be better than Fiero at what he does," he said kindly. Genevieve smiled a little. It was luminous but brief. She handed back the bag of coins.

"Thank you."

"I need to get back to the stables," he told her, mounting up, "This road will take you back to the castle."

"The guards will talk in any case," she sighed with a roll of her eyes.

"I'll send instructions to all the novices shortly. I expect you to be vigilant," he told her then put heels to Psyche and galloped down the road again, leaving Genevieve.

The conversation had focused his attention on her aspirations. He hoped he had given her an appropriate direction to aim for. There was little he could do without some motivation. But her future looked bright. He hoped that she could see it too.


	23. Part 2 - Chapter 2

"I object to Genevieve's inclusion as a novice," Fiero told his audience. Falco, Lazzari, Lorenzo and the Master were seated in the Master's office, listening to the young Assassin as he passionately expressed his opinions, "She is a woman! For God's sake! Women don't do well in positions of pressure. They do not exhibit the self-control or level-headedness required of our demanding job."

Lorenzo looked to his counterparts to gauge their reactions. They, however, were looking to him. He had been the one to insist upon her selection. He had already given his reasons to them – Fiero was not a part of the selection process. Still, it appeared that the others weren't totally convinced and Fiero voiced a common opinion. The Master's face could not be read – Lorenzo did not know the extent of his support.

"I disagree," he countered, "She's managed to find her way here in search of you, quite successfully. She could have told me what she wanted to tell you but she didn't. I suspect her goal was to see you. She's invaluable in the kitchens and multi-disciplined as far as I can see. From what I gather, she proved she can think on her feet and plan as she goes. She also shows that she is prepared by consistently thinking ahead."

"She's a pauper!" Fiero cried, flinging a hand out as though he were speaking to a deaf man, "And a distraction to the novices!"

"This also does not sit well with me," injected Lazzari. The stocky man shuffled in his seat, "She doesn't belong here. Women cause trouble. I don't know how you've managed to keep the novices and the servants separate, Sinacore."

"He hasn't," Fiero stated indignantly, "I was speaking with the novices last night..."

"... and they told you she had been sleeping with them?" interrupted Lorenzo. Fiero faltered a little, but regathered his resolved.

"You condone this behaviour?"

"No, my expectations are clear for both the novices and the servants."

"Then how to you explain it?"

"You're lying Fiero."

"Genevieve told you this. She's lying to you! She has you wrapped around your little finger! Or has she been seeing you too, Sinacore?"

Lorenzo's temper rose to a rolling boil at this point. He fixed a patient gaze on Fiero.

"Genevieve was seen by the guards leaving castle this morning. I offered her money as any person working here would be deserving of. She indicated that she wanted to stay but that you, Fiero, would attempt to prevent her by revealing a lie about her. It's a damning lie and beneath your station. Now, please enlighten us with the true reason why you're so against Genevieve's involvement with the training program?"

Fiero evidently realised that he had made a mistake by threatening Genevieve directly, "She has no money. She has no future. What stake does she have against the Templars? Her loyalty is in question."

"Is it?" countered Falco, surprising everyone in the room, "She seemed extremely loyal to you when she arrived. I don't know if anyone else would've thought so quickly and clearly after finding her employer's dead. As Sinacore said, her goal was to see you. Why are you not supporting her?"

"I have supported her," Fiero said indignantly, "Countless times I have rescued her due to some setback or another. I provided a job for her where she can go to from here. It's a good job with board and decent pay. It's appropriate for her class. I don't understand why you are considering her future as an Assassin."

"Because we are losing," the Master injected. Fiero clamped his mouth shut, "Despite training, despite innovations, despite following in our father's footsteps, we are losing. Our numbers are lower every year and we need to do something. Like all of the other novices we have at the moment, Genevieve has potential. That's why, Fiero." The weight of Master's words hung over all present. Their bigger goal of preventing the Templars from successfully controlling people through the use of the Apples of Eden was becoming more and more difficult. Assassins were disappearing, presumed dead. "She is an unknown entity but she will get the opportunity to prove herself. Like any other novice. And if she succeeds and becomes your equal Fiero, she will receive the respect of her new station."

The vein on Fiero's temple tensed as he grinded his teeth, "Yes, Sir."

"What have you exposed in your recent travels, Fiero?" the Master asked, indicating that the matter was closed and the conversation had shifted to discussing other topics now. Fiero had been searching for Templar Tokens. The Brotherhood had little intelligence on the importance of these Tokens since they caught wind of them a year or so ago. The general consensus was that they were keys to reveal secrets. After much deliberation, the Master had ordered a probe into eight known high standing Templars in Venice, Rome and Naples. Fiero had taken Naples, seeking out three individuals. Ezio Auditore was in the throes of investigating three Templars in Venice. The third Assassin, Guiseppe Amante, hadn't been seen or heard from in some time and the worst was feared.

"I've had trouble. They've increased their fortifications. More guards adds complexity and there are numerous places to search and eavesdrop. I need more time," Fiero replied succinctly. The Master nodded.

"Do you need help?" asked Lorenzo, "Extra eyes and ears?"

"No, thank you. I think it would add to the complexity. I intend to be away for longer this time."

"How long?"

"Six months. I'll take on the Templars in Rome. On my way back."

The meeting left Lorenzo feeling more determined than ever to train successful novices. Master was right – their numbers were dwindling. They could barely keep up let alone cover the amount of ground that was needed if they were to get ahead of the Templars. Part of him wished to be out in the field again, running missions and gathering intelligence. The other part of him knew that his place was at the castle for now.

While being Brotherhood sympathisers, Falco and Lazzari were not themselves Assassins. Their involvement was purely for the training of the novices and for the improvement of Brotherhood operations. They hoped to gain financially from the Brotherhood's success. Other Assassins had followed in their fathers' footsteps and lent their time to the cause when they could. But the sort of skilled Assassin who trained from youth were becoming a dying breed.

And then there was Lorenzo's unforeseen entry into the Brotherhood. He had stumbled upon the Brotherhood by accident and offered immense financial aid in return for the training required to become an Assassin. His own audacity lent him from one successful missing to the next. He had also seen the need to train new people and orchestrated the training of the recruits at the castle. He could not be spared for the time being.

Lorenzo went straight from the meeting to the novice induction. As he strode into the room, he cleared his thoughts of Fiero's indignant attitude and his failure to present any leads on the Templar Tokens and focused on the faces watching him expectantly. He noted that Genevieve was with them at the back of the room but didn't give her any special acknowledgement.

"Congratulations," Lorenzo told them, slowly, "You have exhibited the qualities that we are looking for. You have the opportunity to become a part of the Brotherhood. Specifically, you have the opportunity to become Assassins."

He gave them the rundown - the training became harder, their efforts would need to be doubled. They were expected to be professional and focused, no excuses would be accepted. They needed to be able to think for themselves and learn to take initiative wherever possible.

Lorenzo's work began here.


	24. Part 2 - Chapter 3

After a month of steady progress, Lorenzo was confident that the novices were adjusting to their new roles well. As if on cue, disaster struck.

It wasn't often that Luigi came to Lorenzo before breakfast, but there he was standing in Lorenzo's doorway, speaking a string of words that Lorenzo never thought he'd hear. Lorenzo listened to the words Luigi was saying but the words came out in a rush and the man's mouth opened and closed painfully slowly.

He was saying that Vieve had been found hanging from a tree in the back garden not longer than half an hour ago. She was alive, barely, and severely cold.

"Where?" Lorenzo demanded.

South wing.

Lorenzo pulled on the rest of his clothes and couldn't remember running through the halls but it felt like it took forever. A multitude of thoughts ran through his head and he couldn't pick one to focus on. Who did this? Did she try to hang herself? Why had this happened? Would she be alright?

All of a sudden, she was there in front of him wrapped in a blanket on the floor surrounded by the staff. Some of the servants held her tightly as she struggled against them, attempting to rid herself of her blankets. "No, you need to keep these on," one of the men was telling her.

Her neck was yellow and purple.

Lips were blue.

Rasping breaths.

Eyes red and oozing.

Expression: vacant.

Lorenzo was at once shocked and angry.

"Sir," stepped forward an older man, one of the servants, his name escaped Lorenzo. He stared up at the older man dumbly, "I found her."

"Tell me," he abandoned Vieve for now grabbing the man's arms earnestly. The old man took a breath, his eyebrows furrowed with pain at the memory. "Now! Tell me now!" Lorenzo shouted and almost shook the old man. The loud noise seemed to reach Vieve and she stopped struggling in an attempt to locate the sound.

"I found her not too long ago. The tree in the back garden. One of the old oaks. Her hands were tied behind her back. Legs were tied together. They'd hung her so she could reach on her toes. Took off her... She was all blue and... so cold... I... had to get help to... cut her down... she..." the old man stood there gaping like a goldfish and wouldn't say anymore.

"Was only wearing a nightshift to her waist," offered one of the women standing nearby. Stella. Her name was Stella. She wore a sorrowful look and didn't make eye contact with Lorenzo. He looked around at the gathered servants. Hats were held in hands, eyes were cast to the ground, sadness reigned.

"How long?"

"I'd guess most of the night," Stella replied and she shivered involuntarily.

Lorenzo let the man go with a quick thanks, "She needs help. Prepare the nearest room. I want blankets, warm water bowls for her to wash and some for her to sip. A volunteer to help clean her." After receiving instructions, the servants leapt into action. Stella dictated which room would be the most appropriate and they melted away from Lorenzo's consciousness as they bustled about.

Luigi returned and said there was a physician coming. Lorenzo frowned. A physician would most likely point out the obvious things and prescribe a basic common-sense remedy.

"And Elvera. Where is she?" Luigi whispered in his ear again. "Then compensate her for her return. As much as she wants," Lorenzo told the sentinel quietly, "I need her here right now." Luigi nodded and left to deal with this errand.

He sat down next to the now nearly lifeless form on the floor and tightened the blankets around her so she couldn't move her arms. Her head had turned to look at the wall. Tears pooled on one side of her nose and on the stretcher that she had been brought in on. Lorenzo used a towel to gently dab away the liquid making her blink.

The yellow and purple bruising snaked under her chin, around her jaw and to her ear. Her slim, delicate neck seemed otherly underneath the bruising. Lorenzo grimaced. How does a thing like this happen? This was meant to be a safe place. Her rasping breath came and went intermittently. Vieve turned her head so she could see him. Pain passed over her face and she closed her eyes briefly, swallowing with effort, attempting to gather herself. Finally, she looked up at him and opened her dry mouth.

"Don't speak," Lorenzo advised her kindly. She made a small attempt at clearing her throat and sniffed a bit, closing her eyes. It was hard to tell if she had heard him. Or where her mind was. She seemed to relax a little and Lorenzo watched, hoping she was finding some peace in sleep. It was short lived. Her eyes flew open in a fit of terror and she made a strangled sound drawing as big a breath as she could, straining against the blanket that held her tightly. Fresh tears eased from her eyes and she turned away from him again as she relaxed.

Lorenzo turned his thoughts to the culprits as he tended to her. It had to be someone inside the castle. But that question would have to wait.

It wasn't long before the room was prepared. Lorenzo helped to gently lift her into the bed. A fire burned in the fireplace to Lorenzo's satisfaction and the room warmed quickly.

When she was settled they piled blankets on her. She remained blue in the face. Lorenzo thanked everyone for their help and that he would inform them of her progress. Most left except for Stella and another woman whom he asked to sit with Vieve.

Vieve lay in the bed in much the same condition as before. Every now again she would start in absolute terror and they consoled her as much as possible. Still, her eyes were vacant and they couldn't tell if she responded to them or some other internal motivation.

Lorenzo paced the room out of Vieve's line of sight. He didn't want her to be affected by his own stressing.

Luigi returned in due time.

"Has the Master been informed?"

Luigi nodded.

"Thank you. Ask him to speak with me, either by coming down or through a note. I will stay here until the physician arrives. Do up a roster of women, Vieve is not to be left alone at all. Not for five minutes. Whoever is with her must be awake so tell them to bring something to work on while they sit here. Pay them double..." Lorenzo rattled off orders, hoping he had thought of everything, and dutiful Luigi didn't ask any questions.

There was nothing else left to do but wait for the physician.

Vieve's starts took her every now and again. They happened as she seemed to fully relax and close her eyes. Lorenzo watched three times every five minutes as she would involuntarily jerk awake in a panic. Her blue face and bruises would heal but the damage to her mind was indeterminable.


	25. Part 2 - Chapter 4

After what seemed like days but was merely the passing of mid-morning to mid-afternoon the morning that Genevieve was found, the physician arrived. Lorenzo went to Vieve and asked her if she minded if the physician examined her. She turned away from him which he decided was a no. He could not help but feel partially gladdened by this. He had no love for physicians as he witnessed too many who took liberties. And others who exacted pain and even killed, in the name of experiment. Some men were truly evil.

He told the physician that she refused.

"Why did you ask her? Stupid girl. They don't know what is good for them," the Physician replied. Lorenzo ignored this remark.

"To make your visit not so pointless for you, could you describe what care we might take with Genevieve? I know it's difficult without you seeing her. She was bound and hung from a tree in the cold for most of the night."

"She must have a severely dry throat," Physician told him. Lorenzo bit hard on his tongue. Any fool could've guessed that. "She would need bed rest and liquid. Water and clear soup only. Is there bruising on her neck?"

"Yes."

"It will fade with time."

"And the cuts on her wrists and legs?"

"The same. This salve should help," he passed him a bottle of vile looking green slime, "I need to examine her... more closely," the physician said, "I assume she didn't hang herself and if so, she may have been raped. Clear the room."

"No," Lorenzo said firmly, "What would rape appear like?"

"Do you question my practice, son?"

"I am keeping her dignity," Lorenzo replied. The Physician narrowed his beady eyes at him.

"I am a physician. Why did I bother to come if you would not use my services?"

"To be paid. Now unless you wish to relinquish your fee, you will describe to these ladies here what rape looks like on a victim."

The Physician looked down his nose at Stella and her companion. "Do you think these two have the equipment or the skill to do my job."

"I believe they do. After all, they are women themselves. Now, will I send you home with or without payment?"

Lorenzo listened as the Physician described the bruising that occurred with rape. It was a topic that clearly made the women uncomfortable, especially to have it spoken to them by an unknown man. Lorenzo encouraged them to look past the social conventions that held them firmly and to consider it as a way of helping Genevieve. Finally, they agreed to examine her.

It was an agonising 15 minutes while the women worked and Lorenzo waited. They opened the door, eyes downcast and shook their head. "There was no bruising so we didn't look any further," Stella told Lorenzo. Understandably, she couldn't meet his eyes. Lorenzo dismissed the Physician soon after.

Upon entering the room again, Lorenzo went straight to Genevieve's side and offered her water. She sipped a bit and seemed okay. If only she could speak with him and tell him who did this, then he could take more confident action and right this wrong.

For now, he had to wait until she was better.

Colour slowly seeped back into her face and Lorenzo built up the fire. The terrors seemed to be the most pressing issue for her. They were frequent but difficult to anticipate. On the third wave of women to sit with Geneveive at midnight, Lorenzo decided that he would sleep himself. He hadn't eaten all day though he was not hungry. He walked through the corridors of his home barely registering where he was going and somehow, an eternity later, found his door. Luigi was waiting with a crackling fire and a drawn bath but Lorenzo dismissed him and climbed into bed exhausted.

He woke early. Luigi had anticipated him and left some bread and olive oil for his own breakfast as well as a fresh bath. He was a good man.

Dressed just after the sun was up, Lorenzo made his way to Genevieve's room. The women were changing shift again – this would be the early morning shift.

"She hasn't slept at all," one of the women said to him.

"Not even a minute," the other reiterated. Lorenzo thanked them and entered. The room was warm and the fire crackled happily. Vieve's face had regained its colour. Her lips were their usual shade of pink and her cheeks were rosy. Her consciousness seemed to have returned as well – she appeared more alert than yesterday. He offered her a drink, which she declined and he sat down in the chair next to her bed.

"Vieve, I cannot imagine what the last few days have been like for you," he told her. She blinked at him from beneath her covers. "I hope you feel better soon so you can tell me who did this to you." She made some coughing noise, attempting to clear her throat and opened her mouth but nothing came out. This troubled her a little and she shut it again, a little embarrassed. "Don't worry for now," he reassured her, "Get better – that's your task."

Directly from her room, Lorenzo went to find the Master. The concerned look that the old man gave him spoke volumes.

"She's awake but unable to speak," Lorenzo told him, sitting down and burying his head in his hands.

"Have you got any information?" the Master clarified.

"No, Master."

"Why haven't you started interviewing the staff or novices yet?" the Master asked angrily. Lorenzo immediately sat up straighter. He hadn't anticipated the Master to be unsympathetic of his own position in this situation.

"If nothing was heard, they'll tell me that. But I'm afraid that if they did hear something they'll tell me the same. Nothing."

"Start asking, Lorenzo," the Master snapped. It wasn't often that the Master was harsh in his tone but this was one of those times. "This occurrence is unacceptable! I'd have a mind to tell you to dismiss every servant in this building and send every novice home but we don't have the resources or the time. This must be corrected!" Lorenzo issued a quick "Yes, Sir" and excused himself to find Luigi. He was going to need help to conduct interviews.

Collaborating with Luigi was easy and the footman knew exactly what to do. Which was good. Lorenzo felt jaded already, weighed down with the daunting task of interviewing every single person who resided or worked within the castle. Training was cancelled for the next few days, the servants were put on a temporary roster so meals operated as close to normal as possible. Lorenzo sat alone in one of the Drawing Rooms, attempting to collect his scattered thoughts, waiting for the long line of interviewees to arrive.


	26. Part 2 - Chapter 5

In two more days, Vieve's appetite returned however slow it took her to eat. She motioned with her hands for things to do and some stitching was brought to her. Lorenzo hadn't stayed with her the whole time and trusted her recovery to Elvera, who returned to take care of Genevieve.

"She hasn't slept very well in the last few days," Elvera told him seriously outside of her room when he came to see her. This wasn't good news.

"I'll just see if she has any information for me," he said slowly. The sad look in Elvera's eye told him that she didn't think it was a good idea. Upon entering her room, he agreed. Vieve was pacing herself across the room, incessantly rubbing her hands and arms. Her wrists had scabbed in their mending. She would have ugly scars around them. She turned this way and that and couldn't keep her eyes on one thing. Lorenzo watched as she threw herself into a chair and pinched her nose with a hand.

She was crying.

Everything seemed to hurt.

Huge racking sobs grated the silence of the room. Elvera knelt next to the inconsolable woman and dabbed her forehead with a wet towel, cooing something quietly. She said that Sinacore had come to visit.

Vieve spied Lorenzo. She obviously had not heard him enter. Burying her pain deep, she sat up, stopped sniffing, dabbed her eyes and refused to meet his gaze. She sat stiffened as a statue. Waiting.

Sadly, Lorenzo recognised when his presence caused anxiety. "I don't want to distress you. When you want to see me, send word," he said, bowed and bid her good day.

The interviews had yielded negative results. Not a single person said that they had heard anything the night that Genevieve had been dragged outside and hung. Every person had an alibi that was cross-referenced and seemed to check out.

Despite cancelling training, the men went on without Lorenzo, Falco, Lazzari and Genevieve. There was nothing to be done to stop them. They organised themselves into groups and practiced skills that they had already been taught. Not one of them was silly enough to make a complaint about how training had halted because of Genevieve's harrowing experience. They knew they would be scrutinised if they dared to do so.

As such, it was difficult to tell what the men were thinking. Most were amiable towards one another but Lorenzo was not fooled. He spied who each person preferred to train with, who each person preferred to eat with and who each person preferred to do their chores with. When they put their heads together to talk quietly with each other, Lorenzo wished against everything else to be privy to the topic of the conversation. Still, it would not do to accuse anyone of conspiracy without evidence. De Rege, the largest of the group with his sharp eyes and impressive towering figure, looked to Franzese, Pecora, Rosso and Pellegrini for muscular friends. He had the mass to threaten a bull but was aware of it and pulled his punches. These were the men who dominated the arena and who consistently bested Genevieve at every physical task.

Barone, the one with the loudest mouth and a sharp wit, had Battaglia, Ruggiero, Negri and Mazza, who were constantly looking to be better than the next man. This betterment never extended into sabotage but did often extend into verbal abuse. Lorenzo wondered if they had taken their verbal reprises too far on Genevieve.

Eposito laughed all the time, even when there wasn't anything to laugh at, which wasn't often because he would play tricks on Greco, Rosetti, Bernadi and Coppola to make sure there was something to laugh at. But he didn't appear to be a vindictive person and Lorenzo had seen him laughing with Genevieve every now and again. Their relationship was easy and open.

Pandimiglio, Genovese, D'angelo, Ferri, Cattaneo and Guiliani were all quiet, contemplative men who had formed an open bond of companionship and comradery through actively seeking knowledge. They spoke about world matters, played chess and shared their perspectives on governments, democracies and trading. There wasn't anything untoward about them and Lorenzo had seen Genevieve sit with them. Just listening to their opinions. Watching the game.

Geneveive was a natural outsider to all of the cliches that the men had formed – being a woman. This was compounded by other existing factors. She was not strong, which meant that she lacked respect from De Rege and his crew. Her wit was not quick, leaving her lacking respect from Barone and his friends. While she laughed at Eposito, she didn't possess the originality that he continually expressed and he quickly tired of her blandness. She was ignorant of worldly matters, hence why she always listened, and only spoke to ask questions, in the largest group of men. There were multiple setbacks for her but Lorenzo couldn't imagine any underlying issues.

It wasn't only the novices who Lorenzo was watching out of the corner of his eye. The servants also shared their fair slice of suspicion. Luigi had his own way of keeping count of who was with who and who appeared to be distracted or not. Despite his methods however, he could not share information that was of any use. Elvera was her only close friend and even she said that Genevieve preferred to work by herself at her own insistence. Genevieve did her work, kept out of other people's way and minded her own business.

The darkness didn't hold any answers for Lorenzo as he lay awake. His familiar room hadn't changed. It was the thing that kept him up at night that had. Every scenario ran through his head but none provided a solution for him.

The last thing to do was hear Genevieve's account of what happened.


	27. Part 2 - Chapter 6

In Genevieve's style of occasionally ignoring direct orders, she went to see him instead of asking him to come and see her. Luigi announced her to Lorenzo in his office and in she swept, walking tall like always. In his own anxiety for her, Lorenzo came around his desk to greet her. Her eyes were clear and determined and she strode towards him. Totally different to the woman Lorenzo had last seen. The ugly, angry bruising on her neck had subsided to a purple rash that made him grimace.

"Genevieve, I would've been glad to come and see you if you had sent word," he told her.

"I didn't want to make a fuss," she told him with a voice that was quite husky and looked around his office, "Thank you for overseeing my care these last few days." He pretended not to notice.

"Of course, I can't imagine what you've been through," Lorenzo motioned for her to sit and took the other chair. Her calm surprised him, causing him to forget to ask her how well she had been sleeping. Hindsight told him that she must've slept well, given that she appeared unruffled by her ordeal.

"I don't know who they were," she offered immediately, leading the conversation and throwing him off further, "They put a sack over my head, I didn't see them."

"You're talking about the people who..." but Lorenzo couldn't complete his sentence. It was too horrific to say out loud and he was shamed that it had happened in his castle.

"The people who hung me from that tree. I don't know who they were," she confirmed. Still, she did not exhibit a shadow of emotion. It was difficult to tell if she was successfully keeping her emotions at bay to conduct the conversation or if she simply didn't feel the anger one would ordinarily expect.

"I'm sorry Genevieve," he sighed, "I'm sorry this has happened. It makes me angry beyond belief. Can you tell me anything about what happened that night?"

"Well..." her eyes flashed away from him and she took a deep breath, "They came in the middle of the night while I was asleep. It was dark. There were four men. They didn't speak to each other, which makes me think that I could've identified them by voice."

Lorenzo nodded, that made sense. As she spoke, she looked to him and away when she was considering details.

"They grabbed me from my bed and gagged me, put a sack over my head. I was too panicked to do anything and they were too strong. They were quick to take me outside. It was … so cold," here, her composure faltered a little and she pressed her fingertips to her forehead and shivered involuntarily. Her skin broke out in goosebumps, "I thought I was going to die." Lorenzo found her too difficult to watch, anger crept up from the pits of his stomach. He stood and poured water from a pitcher into a glass for her. She regained her calm and thanked him, sipping carefully. Her eyes followed him as he came back around the desk and sat down next to her, deep in thought. He shoved the anger deep to speak in what he hoped was a considerate tone.

"Did they... do anything else... untoward...?"

"Did they rape me? No they didn't," Genevieve filled in for him. Her frank manner in speaking about the awful subject was without hesitation. A stark contrast to the other women staff, "I think they wanted to scare me. It hasn't worked." She flashed a brave smile at him, which he suddenly found totally endearing. He then banished the thought and elected to tell her that he had conducted interviews with everyone to no avail.

What was the next move? He couldn't cancel training. He couldn't postpone the tournaments. He couldn't point a finger with any certainty or make anyone leave.

"Don't do anything," she said, her eyes hadn't left his face. Her quiet confidence hadn't left. But the smile had. She was dead serious. "You said you wouldn't intervene on my behalf if anything went wrong. I don't expect you to start now."

"These are exceptional circumstances," he argued but still, what could he do? He didn't know anything and her account of the events had yielded no leads.

"I don't see what you can you," she echoed his thoughts, "There's not enough evidence to incriminate anyone."

"Just think back," he encouraged her, "Did they speak at all? Did they threaten you? Did they do anything that would identify them?"

"They didn't say a word and it was too dark to see their faces," she shook her head firmly. A sinking feeling of powerlessness overtook Lorenzo. He had asked everyone if they had heard anything the other night – the staff, the novices, the trainers. Everyone. There was not one person he had left out. No body had seen anything. Not one thing. Not a hint. Not a noise. Nothing. Someone was lying but it was impossible to tell who.

The woman next to him seemed unperturbed. But then from the moment she turned up, she had exuded a calm confidence. Lorenzo admired her resolve. She was a survivor who constantly looked forward. Thinking of which, Lorenzo said, "You are to move rooms from the novice wing to the servants and share the space with someone. I don't know who it was who attacked you, but I don't think they'll do it again if there is likely to be a witness."

If she was about to protest, she thought twice of it and merely nodded, satisfying Lorenzo. This was the only reasonable precaution he could think of. Issuing a guard for her was not a viable option.

"When do you intend to return to training?"

"Tomorrow," she replied immediately. So soon. Even with the purple rash around her neck. He expressed some concern which she waved away with a dismissive hand. "If they wanted to stop me, they should've killed me," she stated, standing up with a short laugh that shocked Lorenzo. He followed her lead though.

"Thank you for coming to me, Genevieve," he told her. He bowed to her and she gave him another smile before turning to the door.

Genevieve's account of that night left Lorenzo feeling powerless. To get it out of his mind, he wrote down all of the options available to him and crossed them off as he deemed them unreasonable, inappropriate or unsuitable.

He was left with no options but to accept this terrible event had happened and attempt to restore life to normal.

Genevieve was back at training the next day. Most of the recruits expressed their happiness at her return which she brushed off shyly, "That's enough warm and fuzzy feelings," she told them quietly.

The men went easier on Genevieve. Much to her dismay. She goaded them with taunts in her husky voice, "You hit like a girl today, Genovese!" "Where is your speed, Russo? Did you leave it in bed this morning?" "Greco, I bet I could put you on your bum quicker than you could say 'Ay, that wasn't fair'". The men steeled themselves and were, before too long, back to treating her with the same amount of force they had previously.

Lorenzo watched them carefully but there didn't seem to be any unnecessary animosity between Genevieve and the other novices. He marvelled at Genevieve's resolve. If it weren't for her temporarily broken voice and the unsightly, fading purple smile on her throat, there was no indication that anything horrific had happened.

This trumped Lorenzo and he felt worse than ever about her ordeal. He expressed this concern to Luigi. The steadfast man held a ready response. Why don't they organise a carriage for her to take her to town so she could do as she pleased for a day? The idea was that she might appreciate some time away from the castle.

Lorenzo considered this plan to be an appropriate compensation for Genevieve's diligent work at the castle. She did deserve some time off. From Lorenzo's experience with woman, they did like to spend time in town, shopping for this, that and the other and generally making spectacles of themselves. The other novices were allowed small amounts of time in the towns but she never went. If she was given leave to go then she might just enjoy herself. Lorenzo instructed Luigi to organise it.

Not too many days passed before their plan was put to action. In the welcome driveway stood Lorenzo's best draught horse and a black closed carriage, waiting as a surprise for Genevieve. Quite pleased with the prospect of Genevieve spending some time on herself, Lorenzo waited out there too, with the driver and a guard he had nominated to go with her.

Luigi brought a perplexed Genevieve outside. She was wearing her brown servant uniform, cinched at her waist and showing a flowing set of arms. She took in the carriage, the horse, the guard and driver and finally, her concerned eyes rested questioningly on Lorenzo.

"Genevieve, given recent events, I thought you might like to spend some time away from the castle," Lorenzo told her as she approached. Dumbstruck, all she could do was gape at the horse and carriage and at Lorenzo.

"No, Sir, you can't send me away," she shook her head misunderstanding him, "I don't have anywhere to go for days at a time."

"I meant for the day," he replied carefully, noting her distress at leaving a place that was up until recently safe to her, "Go and spend some time in the town. I've allowed you some spending money..."

Confusion passed over her face as she interrupted, "Do you need me to retrieve something?"

"No."

"What would I do there?"

"I don't know, what does a Lady do while she's visiting town?"

"I don't know, I'm a servant," this came through gritted teeth as Genevieve's confusion replaced itself with a fearsomeness previously unwitnessed by Lorenzo. Taken aback, he wondered what was wrong with her. He was trying to make amends for her ordeal and here she was, crucifying him with her eyes.

"There's too much work to do here for me to waste my day flouncing around town," Genevieve told him in a low voice, "If you wish to send anyone into town, send Elvera. She would appreciate it more than myself." And with that, she successfully executed an angry curtsey before dismissing herself. Lorenzo watched the retreating back of her chocolate shoulder-length hair, head held high, fists swinging by her sides and as she disappeared into the dark, cool of the castle.

Lorenzo shot an accusing glare at Luigi. This had been his idea. Luigi shrugged timorously and said something about women being unpredictable. This statement was hard to argue with. If Genevieve wanted to turn down a free day then that was her choice.

Dissatisfied Lorenzo stalked off.

From there, life returned to normal. Seemingly.


	28. Part 2 - Chapter 7

Halfway through the novices' training and the weather turned from chilly and forbidding Winter to bright and temperate Spring. Lorenzo was glad. The Winter months had cast a shadow over the castle in his eyes. Constant suspicion ate away at edge of his consciousness and followed him around the castle's rooms and halls. Still, he had taken all the precautions he felt were necessary and they seemed to be working. He tried to leave the past in the past and looked ahead to the tests that the novices were to undertake.

He would design a series of tournaments that expressed the various talents that the novices were practicing as well as challenge them to think on their feet. This was the part of his job that he enjoyed the most.

Inevitably, it meant that he had to reflect on the three months that had passed. Ignoring the worst event of Winter, Lorenzo thought the novices were becoming increasingly focused and skilled. Each man – each individual, rather - had an area that they were particularly skilled in which meant that the challenges in the tournament needed to be broad. He considered the closest towns and wondered if he could utilise them somehow. They were only small towns, no more than a few hundred people in each but with enough facilities to warrant a good treasure hunt if Lorenzo wished to organise it.

Perhaps that would be the last task. Two other tasks had to be completed at the castle and would consist of a straightforward tournament, pitting novices against other novices.

Lorenzo sought refuge in the Library. He had been wanting to do some research to help him with the tournaments.

The large doors led to a tunnel first. Lorenzo could picture in his mind the shelves of books that made the second floor of the Library over his head as he walked through to the library foyer. The foyer boasted shelving to his left and right embedded either side of the tunnel Lorenzo had just exited. At each end of the room were doorways, on the foyer and first levels, leading through to more of the Library. In front of him was a wall with grand windows of stained glass, from his floor to top of the next one, depicting elaborate mosaics in contemporary period pictures. The stained glass alternated between the plain glass which showed the view of the gardens and fields. The ground level glass had window seats built into them. Up behind him was the second floor of the library, accessible by staircases at both ends of the room. The foyer had numerous chairs and tables to sit at.

His eye was drawn to a table that had a book open to a page and a noise, a shuffling noise. He looked up to see a foot disappear on the alcove of an upper window. Non-plussed, he peered again at the book. It was 'The First Blast of the Trumpets' by John Knox. Lorenzo had read this book not too long ago. Exiled Knox wrote about his ire against the Queens that ruled England, France and Scotland. There was only one person who would read such a book.

"You can come down Genevieve," he told the book as he picked it up.

"No, thank you. I quite like it up here," came her hesitant reply. It was a good place to hide. She'd used the rough giant blocks inset into the walls to climb up there. The window she chose was one with a curtain, meaning she was invisible from the second floor too while commandeering a good vantage point that saw most of the shelves in this room. The advantage of the alternate use for the alcove didn't occur to Lorenzo until now.

He frowned. He didn't realise that Genevieve felt the need to hide herself when she was caught alone. He'd had no idea that she took such precautions to avoid one-on-one confrontations. How many times had she needed to resort to this without anyone knowing? The regular routine returning after being hung for the night was, by all appearances, a deception. It was foolish of him to think that life would be the same for her. Mentally, he kicked himself for not considering it sooner.

Reading an excerpt from the book, he took it with him and wondered over to the stairs, taking his time in coming to the second floor. He stopped at the top and leaned on the railing closest to her window.

"It makes me angry," she offered voluntarily, swinging her legs over the edge of the alcove. The drop didn't appear to worry her. Her casually quiet confidence struck Lorenzo every time. From where he was, he could see that the bruising on her neck had disappeared. It was hard to believe that she had been hung from a tree.

"Hell hath no fury like a religious man scorned by a woman," Lorenzo mused.

"There isn't a book in this Library that's written by a woman," she observed. She was right. But women did not author books.

"What would a woman write about?" This question rendered Genevieve silent for a minute.

"I don't know, but I would read it," she decided passionately.

"Maybe you should write one," he suggested.

"Can you imagine the outrage? They'd assume I was a witch and burn me at the stake. They do that in England." Accurate. Commoners did not have a use to write, much less read. Reading was reserved for learned men, woman minding estates and priests. Least of all poor women with no status."

"How is it that you read more than one language?" he asked conversationally. At first, he didn't think she was going to answer.

"My mother's father was a scribe," she said finally, "He taught her and she taught me."

"I remember you telling us that she died. How long ago was that?" This time he was met with silence. There was the barrier.

"There isn't a book in here about the Templars," she observed, changing the topic. In classes, Genevieve never asked questions. It was Lorenzo's turn to be silent. She was right. There wasn't a book in the Library about the Templars. This was intentional. And necessary. If novices started learning about the Apples of Eden too soon then they risked considering the Brotherhood to be unbelievable or desired the power for themselves. "I was expecting to be able to find more information about them."

"Were you looking for something specific about them?"

"No, just general research. They seem highly organised."

"They are."

"How far back does their organisation go?"

"For longer than any of us remembers."

"So this war has been passed down from one person to the next just through the generations without anyone knowing exactly when it started?"

"... Yes."

Her reaction was one of incredulousness and Lorenzo prepared himself for a long line of questioning that involved him defending the sometimes-blind-follower style of instructing novices. But she surprised him.

"...Okay."

Lorenzo was pleased by this. Training people to trust everything they were told was key to their success but they needed to be able to think for themselves too. He had confidence in Genevieve's ability to think for herself. But she couldn't hide from confrontation all the time.

"Can I give you some advice?" he asked her.

"Yes?"

"I understand why you were hiding Genevieve. It's good for you to have options in case you need to get out. You show a preparedness that proves you can move at a given moment. But you can't fly at the slightest provocation every time. You must show some measure of control within yourself and within your situation if you are ever to overcome it."

She blinked at him, considering his words. And he left her to her own devices.


	29. Part 2 - Chapter 8

"Sir, I'm tired of being bested all the time by the men," she told him from halfway across his office. Genevieve was wearing her training leathers that accentuated her midget waist and the boots he had provided for her. They were too small to fit any of the other men. Lorenzo put down his quill and patiently gave her his full attention. He opened his mouth to tell her that this was what he had told her to expect, all those months ago, but she rudely interrupted.

"I found something," she said this gleefully and thrust a book in front of him. If it had been anyone else, their lack of decorum and forward nature would've annoyed him and he would've told them to wait until he ready to speak with them. Perhaps it was because of the fact that she nearly died on his watch that he chose not to chastise her. Or perhaps he was distracted by the book that she had laid in front of him, as it was the very book that had inspired him in his own fighting techniques.

The page she opened to depicted pictures of Japanese Samauris practicing fighting techniques in the event that they lost their swords.

Genevieve bore enough respectability to wait as his eyes scanned the page. Lorenzo flipped through the familiar book. These were advanced moves. The book moved into the various bushido of Samauri culture. The culture which inspired his own morals in life. Lorenzo was temporarily transported back to his own training days. Fly kicks were his favourites...

"I can't teach you these advanced moves," he told her, "And if I did, then I would need to teach the other novices."

"I'm not asking you to," she smiled as if anticipating this, "I'm asking for the space and someone discreet to train with."

"Discreet? Why discreet?"

"I'm looking ahead to the tournament. This will only work if I can surprise an opponent with it. As soon as the other novices know what to look for, I lose the advantage," she explained. Lorenzo considered her carefully. She was talking about surprising her opponents. It would give her an edge... "I need someone to train with who won't tell the novices." Her clear eyes asked him, begged him for this opportunity. Her excitement caught him. Lorenzo glanced at Luigi, who had been watching their conversation.

"Luigi will train with you," he said. Luigi nodded as though he would've chosen himself too, "Use one of the rooms in the East Wing." He closed the book and handed it back to Genevieve, turning back to his writing task. She smiled widely at him then turned to Luigi.

"Sir, do you have a preference of time?" she asked Luigi, who responded that he was totally at her disposal. "Just before dawn, every morning, starting tomorrow," Genevieve told him. He nodded. She thanked Lorenzo and was about to take her leave when he stopped her.

"Genevieve, this is training on top of everything you're doing at the moment."

"Of course, Sir." Genevieve flashed him an irresistibly triumphant smile. Lorenzo watched her go and shared a look with Luigi.

Luigi mentioned that he was pleased to be a part of training again.

"I don't see how she's going to teach herself these moves," Lorenzo told him doubtfully, "You aren't to guide her, either. Don't get carried away with it. You are a body for her to practice on. Nothing more." Luigi nodded his understanding.

To even the field a little, he announced to the novices that if they had the means to seek out extra training for themselves, they needed to approach Lorenzo and request equipment or space. The only catch was that it could not encroach on their current regime.

To his surprise, no one came forward to ask for anything extra. He had tried though, so his conscience was clear.

Lorenzo attempted to focus his own attentions on organising the tournaments. If he searched himself properly though, he would discover a fraction of his soul wanting to be teaching Genevieve the moves she embarked on teaching herself. Oh to be out in the arena again, fighting an opponent! Or even out in the field, using his honed skills to eavesdrop, steal or assassinate. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he would be able to go out in the field again – yet – with things as dire as they were. The novices were the Brotherhood's focus, increasing their dwindling numbers was critical to their success and future. And, as such, when Lorenzo wasn't training the novices, he was in his office, pouring over parchment, maps and instructions for Luigi.

Lorenzo had promised himself that he wouldn't get up at dawn to visit the East Wing and spy on Genevieve's covert training sessions. Luigi's reports had been satisfactory. But when Luigi told him that she was developing a strong eye, the muscle strength and the coordination required for using the advanced techniques, Lorenzo had to see for himself.

He strolled the corridors of the hushed castle and came upon dust and silence just before dawn one morning. His footsteps whispered against the marble flooring in the mostly abandoned part of the castle and he found the door that Luigi had outlined to him. He pushed it open and found the pair in an empty room save for a large rug that protected the floor.

Genevieve was talking to Luigi in a low voice. She faced him, gesticulating with her hands and arms and Luigi observed and nodded. With her back to Lorenzo, she didn't see him and neither did Luigi, who was focused on making sure she didn't injure either of them.

Taking two steps back, Genevieve readied herself and nodded. Luigi came at her with a series of punches which she dodged. Then she grabbed his outstretched arm and used Luigi's strong stance to flip a leg up his back and over his head. Clamping his neck between her thighs, she used the momentum in her torso and upper body to twist him off balance and safely onto his back. She paused, lying horizontally across Luigi and holding him captive between her legs.

It was good. But it needed to be faster. More convincing.

Lorenzo felt something stir inside him as he watched her breathe hard, chest heaving, staring down her own body at Luigi in possessive power. Genevieve had never before been more attractive than in that moment. Lorenzo dispelled the feeling immediately. It would not do to be attracted to the woman at all. Not for him. Not for her.

Luigi tapped her legs with his hands and she let go. She leapt to her feet and immediately helped Luigi up, asking if he was okay. Lorenzo made his presence known by circling them.

Genevieve looked to him with an expectant expression. If she wanted his approval, she would be hard pressed for it.

"As you were," he told them stopping at a different point. She glanced at Luigi and cast an annoyed expression back to Lorenzo. He would hold fast to his word. He wasn't going to say anything about the moves she was attempting to teach herself. She murmured something else to Luigi who nodded and stood side on to her.

This time, Genevieve took a run up and used Luigi's arm to pull herself up and across his front, snapping a leg over his head. Then she swung her top half down and around his body, flipping Luigi forward and onto his back, using her arms to push him. Genevieve had landed on her feet, somehow, and came at Luigi's neck with the heel of an open palm, stretched fingers.

Exactly the way an Assassin would for a kill with his hidden blade.

Witnessing enough, Lorenzo made a sudden, stormy exit. He desperately needed to distance himself from her. She was becoming too much.

Much too much.


	30. Part 2 - Chapter 9

As the tournament loomed closer, Lorenzo felt himself cornered with Genevieve more and more. After every training session, it was his custom to inspect every piece of equipment to ensure it had been cleaned and put away neatly, ready for the next session. Genevieve took it upon herself to be the last person to do everything. Indeed, she took twice as many steps as any of the other men and managed to get twice as much work done but somehow, she was the last one there. Often, he would find her conscientiously sharpening swords or painstakingly straightening arrow fletching. Where the work came from, Lorenzo didn't know. It was hard to tell if the novices left the work to her or if Genevieve found work to keep busy.

Today she was rubbing down the horses after a particularly difficult session during which no one could do what was asked of them. Genevieve didn't seem phased by Lorenzo's inspections. She went on with her work but Lorenzo couldn't tell if she was ignoring him pointedly or if she was genuinely engrossed with her task. She could be difficult to pick.

Upon seeing there were three horses left to rub down, he grabbed a towel and silently started on the horse next to Genevieve's. Lorenzo was deeply unimpressed with the fiasco the novices had presented to him after he had given them simple instructions. They hadn't practiced the moves he had set out for them, they hadn't listened when he told them to work on core muscles, they hadn't...

"Calm your mind," Genevieve's voice easily cut through his stormy conscience. He stopped rubbing and stared across the horse's ridge at her. She had her back turned to him, unaware that he had stopped. Her brown hair was braided tightly and moved with her, "You're meant to be easing the beast down, not stirring him up. It's not his fault the novices are hopeless," she continued. How did she know? "Your strokes are angry," she answered without Lorenzo asking, "So calm your mind." Not once did she turn to face him. Her own hands pressed firmly on her horse's side and the long strokes she used were slow and deliberate.

Curiously, her words affected him by bringing an underlying thought to the forefront of Genevieve herself. He forgot about the disappointing training session.

"Vieve, how are you so good with the horses?" he asked her. She tilted an ear toward him and paused. For a minute, he thought she might divulge more information of her life to him. But not this time.

"Are you here to talk, or are you here to work?" she asked, her tone marginally sharper than before. Lorenzo sucked in a silent breath and closed his mouth, resenting her abrupt change but recognising the respect it commanded. What was her past to him anyway?

But after some minutes, he finally admitted to himself that he was intrigued more than absolutely necessary. The acknowledgement of his oppressed feelings prickled the back of his neck in an old, familiar way.

It would not be banished this time.

How long had he been excusing himself and his attentions regarding Genevieve with reasons that weren't altogether justified? He couldn't reasonably answer which meant he couldn't claim impartiality. Self-doubt overtook Lorenzo as he applied Genevieve's advice with his strokes and allowed his thoughts free reign as he worked. He looked at the horse in front of him but his mind's eye was elsewhere.

Lorenzo wanted Genevieve's unsmiling face and her serious watchful eyes turned to him, unsmiling at him and seriously watching him. He wanted her assertively dominating him, quivering underneath him, poised confidently beside him, everywhere around him.

He left her to the work suddenly, without a word. Shamefully.

The coming weeks found Lorenzo seeing her everywhere. She was training hard with the men in the fields, sweating and panting with effort. She was wiping her hands on her apron in the kitchen, cupping her hand around a spoon and blowing on it. She was dusting the paintings in the hallways and scrubbing the wood floors in the dining room. She would be killing a beast in the paddock, laughing with Elvera as they hung out sheets and embroidering while she churned butter. She visited him at inopportune times, during meetings and while he attempted to work, and at convenient times when he was alone in quiet solitude of his rooms.

The bell would not be unrung. Lorenzo allowed her to plague him. He was certain that she would continue to do so, weather he wanted it or not. At least allowing it gave him some measure of control.

However small that measure might be.

The week before the first challenge and the castle was a hive of activity. The servants were excited but busy with preparations. The novices put their heads together and talked about what the challenges might be. With their training finished, they were left to themselves to practice. Lorenzo was too busy to even stop and enjoy the atmosphere, along with Genevieve, who simply never stopped for her own reasons.

By this time, thinking about Genevieve had become a welcome distraction from the pressures of Lorenzo's job and the expectations placed upon him. He was no longer sure if the Genevieve who lived in his mind was the same Genevieve that stood in front of him half the time.

Lorenzo considered Genevieve's future. What if she wasn't accepted as an Assassin's Apprentice? Where would she go? What would she do? Somehow the thought of her leaving was unbearable.

At this thought, Lorenzo found himself moving from his desk halfway through writing a letter. Compelled to find Genevieve. Compelled, suddenly, to tell her his thoughts. What if the reason she stayed was for him if not as an Apprentice? If he did announce feelings for her, would she accept him?

Not thinking rationally, he ran right into her as she was coming around the corner. She didn't scream. She laughed instead and it took a full minute for her to regain her composure. In that minute, Lorenzo did not have a clue about what he should do. He stood there stupidly admiring her unexpectedly sunny face while her giggles subsided.

"I'm okay," she said, pushing gently on his arms. Which surprised him, he'd been too distracted to notice that he had grabbed her to prevent either of them from falling. He retracted them, then didn't know what to do with them so he folded them behind his back. Genevieve searched his face, looking for a response as they both stepped back.

"Good," was all he could come up with, then he told her, "I was coming to see you."

"Me too," she replied, "Coming to see you, I mean." Her Italian was not working very well. Was she nervous? Was this a bad omen?

The silence that ensued grew awkwardness like weeds. He kicked himself mentally.

"Let's walk?" he offered. Genevieve nodded, her brown orbs shone black in the hallway as she eyed him carefully. He hoped he appeared unchanged, normal. After short deliberation, he continued in the direction he was heading in and she followed.

"Genevieve..." he powered on, wanting to control the conversation.

"Should we draw straws on who goes first?" she asked at the same time, with another laugh. An unnatural attempt at lightness. She was nervous. Had he made her nervous?

Lorenzo's manners kicked in. He attempted to regain some of his own distinction despite the flurry of feelings fluttering inside him, "Ladies first."

With what she had to say, he would be glad to hear her mind first.

Genevieve took a deep breath.

"The tournament is closing in," she began slowly as they walked the halls.

"Are you nervous?" he asked her quietly, glancing at her to gauge her reaction.

"No, not about the tournament. Whatever happens, happens," she flashed a smile and shrugged, "I realise that I may not be selected to become an Apprentice. The novices are all skilled and capable. Each of them has a fair chance..."

"You also will have a fair chance..."

"Will you please stop interrupting me," she demanded. Lorenzo heaved an inward sigh, reigning in his desire to control the conversation, and apologised out loud, hoping to hide his own nervousness. Secretly however, he liked it when she spoke to him like that. After an eternity of seconds, she continued, "Regardless of the outcome, I must thank you for a lot of things. Everything I've done since coming here has been permitted and supported by you." Her eyes held him captive as she spoke. While his heart quickened in anticipation, he brushed this comment off.

"You were not welcome in the first place," he countered, looking away, "Nor did I permit you to trick my guards."

"No, but you let me get away with it," Genevieve replied, "Not one other person in this castle would let me work, or train, or let me get away with half as many things as I have."

"Do I even know about half the things you've apparently been doing?" he asked, stopping to doubt her with a glance. Genevieve stopped to face him.

"Ignorance is bliss," she replied with a lopsided grin. He flashed a returning smile to her, approving briefly of her mysterious playfulness. She moved with him as he continued on down the hallway toward the Mess Hall. He strolled slowly deliberately, in an effort to have more time with her before they reached the company of others. She continued to speak, saying how he had provided her with uncommon freedom for a woman, especially one with no future without a husband. Lorenzo's ears prickled at this, listening with interest, eyes cast down to the ground in front of him, frowning in self-control. He silently and desperately willed her to continue with her topic and to compact it into three simple words.

"I am empowered and resourceful because of your support and guidance," she went on, "If I could be half as good as you are at everything then I would count myself a successful woman." He waited, praying, irrationally hoping and praying, that he would only have to acknowledge her loving feelings and reciprocate.

"I owe you," she said meaningfully and in those three words his ardent feelings were shattered, "I owe you for everything." Genevieve went on to say that if he asked anything of her she would not think twice. He did not doubt her. Love could manifest as devotion and loyalty, but love came first. He couldn't convert her devotion or loyalty into love by telling her that he loved her. Her choice of words bothered him. 'Owed' indicated that she considered herself beneath him. Whereas, he wanted her as an equal. Lorenzo did not desire a mutual love based on a power imbalance.

His heart quietened down despondently. He forgot that Genevieve had her own goals and aspirations. Never, not once, had she indicated that she was romantically interested in anyone. It would be foolish to announce feelings for her now. In any case, they were close to the Mess Hall and the hum of the other men's voices drifted down the hallway toward them. Lorenzo sighed inwardly again.

"You do not owe me," he told her quietly, facing her and frowning, "Everything you have learned has been earnt and everything I have permitted you to do has been in accordance with the guidelines. I hope that one day, you will feel justified enough to see how far you've come. Then you can recognise and acknowledge the power that you own and wield it as you like."

Genevieve's dark eyes watched him with a down-turned mouth. He couldn't guess what she was thinking as a result of his impassioned words.

"You mentioned that you were coming to see me?" she asked carefully.

"Only to wish you luck for the tournament," Lorenzo covered quickly. She nodded. By now they had come to the doors that led them to night meal and Genevieve was looking at the men gathered in there. Lorenzo surveyed the scene with lacklustre. The thought of spending any amount of time surrounded by boisterous men on the verge of bursting with machoism and excitement did not echo his true desires. He gave a short bow to Genevieve, excused himself and stalked away.

Ignoring the lonely dull ache in his chest, Lorenzo closed his eyes and anticipated her to haunt him more than ever.


	31. Part 2 - Chapter 10

The first tournament was a test of chicken and fast footedness. Lorenzo had designed an open arena in the indoor mini-amphitheatre. It would normally sit two hundred people on the main floor, all facing the stage, with elevated galleries above, enough to fit 50 more. Except, Lorenzo had asked for the seats on the main sloping floor to be stripped and levelled. For this tournament, the audience would watch from the galleries. On the main floor was a series of random platforms, railings and ramps constructed on metal pole frames, constructed within a large square. These varied in height, width and length, creating obstacles for contestants to race up, on, around, under or through. There was enough space in the middle and around the edges to run, which left plenty of options for the contestants. ( _AN: I'm attempting to describe the World Chase Tag arena. If you haven't seen it yet, you should: it's quite thrilling!_ ).

Two contestants were pitted against each other at a time: one was the chaser, the other was chased. The goal was for the chaser to tag the chased within a set time. The chaser then became the chased as the next contestant became the chaser. If the chased evaded being tagged, the chaser would have to wait their next turn at chasing. Evading tag three times advanced a contestant to the next round. Each contestant would get two turns at being the chaser if they didn't progress. If they didn't manage to become the chased and evade tag three times, they were eliminated from the tournament.

It was a lot of effort for a tournament in which each round lasted twenty seconds. Lorenzo expected this challenge to move swiftly.

The novices knew the game was quick, but they were not permitted to watch from the sidelines as the current contestants raced around the arena, one towards the other and the other away from him. They put their backs to the arena. This was to allow some measure of fairness for they could pick up on which obstacles were traps and which were favoured by other contestants.

Lorenzo watched from a gallery as Cattaneo tore after Mazza. Mazza cleverly waited for Cattaneo behind a waist-high board, faking in one direction and swinging the other way to tear across the arena. Lorenzo glanced down over Luigi's shoulder, who was keeping score of how many times each contestant had been around, how many times they had been tagged and how many opponents each chased person had faced. After facing three different chasers in a row, the chased would be taken out from the current pool and advanced. Eposito and Guiliani had been the first to advance and were currently waiting outside the ampitheatre.

The observing party with Lorenzo consisted of five Assassins called back from various stages of their involvement with the Brotherhood. Two were semi-retired. One had been taking time off with his family. Two had returned from their current missions – one being Fiero. They would be the ones to consider if the novices who made it through the tournament were fit to be Apprentices or not. The novices position as Apprentices was worked out on a points basis, but if the five Assassins suspected anything untoward, they could halt a novice's progress. This moderated Lorenzo's choices.

"Is it true that one of the novices is a woman?" asked one of the Assassins at their private dinner the night before.

Prepared for this questioning, Lorenzo replied in the affirmative and then added, "Her name is Genevieve."

"How did that happen?" asked another Assassin, laughingly.

"She has her reasons for wanting to participate. Her arguments were convincing," Lorenzo replied.

"I'll bet," muttered Fiero from across and down the table. Lorenzo briefly considered flinging his knife down the table at Fiero. Fiero would catch it – with his throat. Immediately, Lorenzo searched himself for the rash thought. The young Assassin rubbed him the wrong way constantly. Fiero's reports lacked the detail that was required of him in the meeting before and he was ambiguous at best. Lorenzo didn't need his negativity here.

"Genevieve has paid her own way through training," the Master saved Lorenzo from having to defend decisions made as a unit. Falco and Lazzari also injected some tame comments in her defence too.

Fiero undermined their comments and whispered to the Assassin next to him.

Lorenzo was sure Genevieve didn't know that Fiero was here. The Assassins were not introduced to the novices. He didn't anticipate any major issues to arise from his presence. The only thing would be that if Genevieve made it through the tournament, he could potentially object against her induction as an Apprentice. Luckily, the Master considered a majority ruling as true in these instances. Genevieve's performance had to convince three of the five Assassins to combat Fiero's views. Lorenzo's mind settled, confident with Genevieve's ability.

Speaking of who, Mazza had evaded Cattaneo – meaning he was to be chased again – and Genevieve stepped up to the platform. This was her first opportunity. Lorenzo fixed his eyes back on the arena and hoped he didn't appear to be staring.

The bell rang and Genevieve shot across the arena, clearing the platform in her way easily. Mazza waited for her to come closer. But she didn't wait for him to run to get to him, she swung around to the left so he ran right. She gave chase. Mazza stuck to the outside of the arena as she cut across, taking a ramp onto a platform, attempting to head him off. She missed and he cut around behind her. Genevieve flipped sideways off her platform without hesitation and looked to see where Mazza was going next. He tripped and Genevieve slid to a halt. Lorenzo blinked to make sure he was seeing correctly. Mazza was helpless and she didn't take advantage of it!

"Get up, Mazza!" she yelled at him. Mazza looked back at her and scrambled to his feet. He darted left and she made a pass but missed. Mazza dodged her under a platform as she swiped at him. Here she lost ground because she was on the outside and Mazza was on the inside. The bell rang again and Genevieve failed to tag Mazza. Not a good start for her.

Lorenzo frowned and felt Luigi turn to look up at him. He didn't acknowledge the footman at all. He kept his eyes on Genevieve who exited the arena and went to stand in line facing the other side of the hall. She had her hands on her head.

De Rege entered the arena and faced Mazza, who had only enough time to regain his position and suck in a few mouthfuls of air. Mazza was tagged out that round. From there, the novices turned into a blur across the arena. They ran, jumped, slid, flipped and reached, utilising every inch of the arena to catch or evade. Lorenzo paid attention only to ensure Luigi's records would be accurate. Until Genevieve's turn came around again.

Thankfully, her opponent, who was Coppola, didn't trip over and she managed to tag him in a spectacular takedown. Coppola had attempted to swing in underneath the platform that Vieve was on top of and she leapt through the air to land directly on his back, knocking him to the ground. She checked to make sure he was okay – which he was - and the grin on her face was clear but brief. She now had to evade capture three times against Genovese, Barone and Pecora.

Genovese lacked the finesse required for the challenge. His foot clipped a platform, bringing him down and allowed time to run over for Vieve. She spun in the arena and took her place again. She was focused as she looked to her next opponent.

Barone was formidable. His quick wit lent him to a quick imagination and he had the perception of a hawk. When the bell rang, he jogged casually over to her, giving her an option of going left or right. She dodged right then left then went right. Barone followed her doggedly and cornered her. She narrowly missed being tagged and she used the time to get around him and headed across the arena. Barone was directly behind her in the middle, reaching with long, outstretched fingers. Genevieve must've sensed that he was close because at full speed running, she suddenly hit the deck – causing Barone's hand to fly directly over her - and she rolled away underneath an obstacle. Genevieve distanced herself from him and waited at the other end of the arena again. Barone lost time trying to catch up with her. He approached cautiously, his eyes furrowed at the woman but the bell rang before he could make another attempt.

Once again, Genevieve walked back to the starting point and fixed her eyes on the well-built Pecora. Pecora glared at Genevieve as he often had in training sessions. This was an effective ploy to unease any opponent. Genevieve did not appear frightened. And when the bell rang, she did not hesitate. She darted off with the athletic man in tow. Choosing a tall obstacle whose platform stood at chest height with railings above and below, she toyed with Pecora, pretending to go one way so he'd follow then going the other, then repeating this again. And when he tired of her teasing, he jumped onto the platform to attempted to go over it. This gave Genevieve time to dart away again. Pecora leapt the railing after her and reached. Missing, Genevieve once again leapt one of the obstacles and tore across the arena. She picked a different obstacle. Again, she played chicken with Pecora and again, he got frustrated enough to try going over the platform to get to her. She danced away easily and the bell rang.

If Genevieve was relieved, she didn't show it. She merely exited the arena directly and found the stairs to the gallery. She sat next to others, didn't make eye contact, barely acknowledged the weak salutations issued to her and looked down to the arena at the next contestants.

Lorenzo exhaled silently and kept his own eyes on the arena. He didn't realise he'd been holding his breath. Luigi cast him a glance again. This time Lorenzo gave a curt nod after looking over his shoulder at his recordings. Pretending Vieve didn't burn the edges of his vision.


	32. Part 2 - Chapter 11

_AN: I must apologise here. I literally ran out of material for the second challenge of the tournament. Writing a Romance novel based on Assassins Creed was not the best idea and I never imagined it would get this far. If you have a suggestion, I'm willing to try and make it work. Otherwise, do skip ahead to the final challenge._ _Thanks for reading._


	33. Part 2 - Chapter 12

The last tournament involved giving each of the novice a horse. They were lined up at the stables awaiting their instructions in the bright daylight of the morning. Lorenzo told them what they were looking for in the town. They were to retrieve one of five items. He didn't tell them where to look. He gave them no other information – they would need to use their own audacity to work out where the items were. He sent them on their way. Most set off at a gallop, racing each other down the road. Others set off at a trot, including Genevieve.

When they were gone, there was nothing else to do but wait.

It was getting late. Lorenzo turned an eye to the window that showed the grand driveway. Three of the novices were yet to return. Negri, Pandimiglio and Genevieve. The rest had returned and four of the items had been delivered to the Master. The others were in the Mess Hall waiting to see what would happen next. Luigi stood by waiting too. His self-control stood him in one place, considering the ground in front of him with interest. Lorenzo's impatience paced him across the Entrance Hall.

This was the hardest challenge to keep fair. The novices were largely on their own and their honesty was depended upon. It was not uncommon for them to take their time in returning to the castle. If one of them went missing, they would forfeit their opportunity to become Apprentices.

But the prospect of not having any Apprentices wasn't the only reason Lorenzo was restless.

Genevieve was late. Her history lent itself to odd occurrences.

He checked the window again. The sun began to set and the sky lit up in an orange fanfare of colours. Temporarily distracted by the palette of colours in the sky, Lorenzo didn't see the two horses approach from the North immediately. His heart was gladdened to see two more people. He went outside in the cooling late afternoon.

One of the riders cantered ahead of the other. Lorenzo went to hold Negri's horse as the man spoke to him. "Sir, it's Pandimiglio. He was attacked," Negri told him as he painfully slid from the saddle, "Vieve has him."

"Are you hurt?" Lorenzo ask Negri. The short southern Italian shook his head.

"Not as badly as Pandimiglio. He needs help."

Lorenzo looked to Luigi who could guess what he was going to ask. Luigi nodded once and went inside. It took some time – forever – for Genevieve to direct her horse ploddingly up to the front door and Lorenzo waited with impatience.

"What happened?" he asked Negri in the meantime. The man sat down on the step and rubbed his face. He looked tired.

"I don't know. I caught up with them on the way back. Genevieve wouldn't tell me anything and wouldn't give Pandimiglio to me either. He's not in a state to be moving, let alone talking." Not wanting to unnecessarily rush Vieve, Lorenzo gathered his reserves of patience and waited.

As they drew closer, Lorenzo rejoiced inwardly for Vieve appeared largely unharmed. As soon as she got a bit closer, her eyes rested on Lorenzo and she heaved a relieved sigh. Lorenzo sensed an unspoken understanding between them. She spoke to Pandimiglio behind her. He was slumped over her back, his arms loosely around her. His head rested on her shoulder and she wriggled it now, in an attempt to stir life from him.

"Eh, Pandimiglio, we're here," she said gently, as Lorenzo reached for her horse's bridle. The man behind her groaned and Lorenzo could see a dark sticky patch on the man's torso. His face was white.

"Pandimiglio, swing your leg over," Lorenzo told the man. With concerted effort, Vieve holding onto his arm and Lorenzo guiding him down, Pandimiglio slid from her horse with a painful moan. Lorenzo put the man's arm around his own shoulders and half-carried him inside. Negri followed anxiously.

Laying him on the floor, Lorenzo lifted the man's shirts to reveal a roughly bandaged wound, soaked through with blood. By then, Luigi came back with reinforcements.

"Here," Lorenzo called them, "This wound needs to be looked at carefully. Clean it up and tell me before you redress it. I must know what type of wound it is." The two men following Luigi brought lots of cloth and water and bowls. Lorenzo left them to it and darted back outside to see Vieve.

She had thrown her own leg over to one side of the saddle and was awkwardly attempting to hold on as she lowered herself down. Pointing a toe, she found the ground and choked a small groan as she weight bore her legs. Lorenzo went to her and put her arm around his shoulder to help her inside too.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked.

"It's my leg. I think I jarred it and the ride back hasn't helped," she replied, wincing as she limped into a chair across from Pandimiglio. She kept her left leg straight and searched it gently with her hands. She appeared as tired and drawn as ever. Negri shared a nod with her as he helped with Pandimiglio.

"Sir," one of the men tending Pandimiglio's wounds called him. Lorenzo went back over to the groaning man on the floor. His wound was a deep straight knife gash to his side, oozing thick, red blood still. Angry, Lorenzo asked for it to be stitched and dressed. There wasn't much else he could offer the suffering man.

"Sir... something... happened...," Pandimiglio reached out to Lorenzo. He took his hand.

"Not yet," he told him gently, "We'll fix your wound first, then we'll talk." Lorenzo gave some orders to the men tending to him. Pandimiglio must be moved to a private room with Negri and Vieve in another room close by. Luigi managed to find more people to help support Negri and Vieve. It was another hour before anyone was moved though. Lorenzo insisted on Pandimiglio's wound being treated then and there.

Lorenzo couldn't wait or watch. He had crowd control to consider. If news of their return reached the Mess Hall then they could be swamped before he'd had a chance to ask what the hell happened. With a last glance at Vieve, he left the party in the Entrance Hall and went to the Mess Hall to ask the Master to keep all novices in attendance there. He kept his update brief.

As he walked back he cleared his mind of the most recent stressors. All his novices were back and alive for now. Pandimiglio was the most seriously injured and it wasn't certain if his wound would not rot and kill him yet. The tournament would continue once the events were made clear.

And Vieve was largely unhurt. He gratefully acknowledged that thought and pushed it from his mind. Pandimiglio came first for now. He was willing to speak with Lorenzo though – a good sign.

The man appeared much more rested in a bed. Pain eased from his face like the blood from his wound however. Each movement gave him grief.

"How are you feeling?" Lorenzo asked him.

"Better."

"What happened?"

"I was attacked," he said immediately, "There was four of them. I'd just retrieved the amulet and was on my way out. They must've been watching me and decided to steal it from me in the street. I tried to fight them but they had weapons." Here he winced in pain.

"Did you recognise them?"

"No, they wore masks." Lorenzo groaned inwardly. Once again, he had no leads.

"Were they successful in stealing the amulet?"

"No," Pandimiglio reached into a pocket and held something out in his hand to Lorenzo. It was the last item that was missing, marking Pandimiglio as the fifth successful novice.

"How do you still have it?"

"Vieve came along. She fought them," the pained man laughed once, "It was... incredible. I was distracted with..." he motioned to his side, "She saved me." Lorenzo frowned and watched the man, "I withdraw from the tournament," Pandimiglio sighed tiredly, "I don't want to do this anymore. Please give that to Vieve. She deserves it."

Lorenzo stared down at the item then back up at Pandimiglio. A multitude of thoughts ran through his mind, each vying for dominance.

"We'll see," he reassured Pandimiglio, tucked the amulet away and then asked Luigi for Negri and Genevieve. They were in a sitting room not speaking. The atmosphere was melancholy and heavy.

"How is Pandimiglio?" Genevieve asked when she saw Lorenzo. She looked as worn out as ever with her leg out straight still.

"He's in pain but he's patched up," Lorenzo answered and came to sit down across from her. As calm as ever, she regarded him with her dark knowing eyes just as he did her. Again, Lorenzo felt a bridge of understanding between them, "I need to know what happened." Genevieve nodded and collected herself.

"I had just looked for the amulet but it was already gone. As I was exiting, I heard fighting downstairs and went to investigate. They wore masks and had knives and I... well I..." she looked away, "I don't know. It was a blur."

"You heard them fighting and what did you do?" he pressed. He needed to hear her say something less ambiguous.

"I went down there and saw them beating Pandimiglio and I... I don't know. I guess I intervened. Here," she added as an afterthought and reached into her right boot, retrieving a knife, "I forgot I had this. It belonged to one of them. They were quick to leave. Negri found us while I was walking Pandimiglio to my horse. He helped us get back here." Negri nodded his agreement.

Lorenzo eyed both of them carefully and the knife he now possessed. It was an underwhelming design: black handle, with dull silver blade, sharpened to an adequate edge. Lorenzo didn't recognise it. "You fought four men? All at once?" he asked, dripping doubt into his voice intentionally.

"I don't have a blow-by-blow account of what happened, Sir. It was all too quick for me to take notes," she replied simply without breaking eye contact.

"Did they get the amulet?" Lorenzo asked her.

"They did disappear quickly after I got there. As though they'd got what they wanted," Vieve told him thoughtfully, "I couldn't say with any certainty."

Lorenzo thanked her and took his leave.

He considered his next options. Pandimiglio wanted out. The rules weren't clear on weather Pandimiglio could give the item to Vieve. Or if she would be considered the last successful novice in this challenge. She'd no idea that Pandimiglio possessed it. Technically, she inadvertedly brought it back, right?

Secretly, Lorenzo confessed to himself that he wanted Genevieve to become an Assassin Apprentice. She was worthy. Much worthier than Fiero, who had bought his way in and assumed the respect that ran down from his father's gallant actions within the Brotherhood. No, there wasn't a legal action Lorenzo wouldn't take to help the forward-thinking servant achieve her goals.

How would it be received if he allowed Pandimiglio to withdraw, giving his place to Genevieve?

Lorenzo needed guidance.

The Master listened to Lorenzo as he explained the situation. His face was indecipherable as always, sitting in a secluded room near the Mess Hall. After enquiring about the health of the three novices, the Master didn't say much else. The old man was not being helpful but Lorenzo knew better than to point this out.

"Is it possible..." he ventured unsurely, "In the wake of Pandimiglio's withdrawal, he said that he wanted to give his amulet to Genevieve. I assume that his aim was to thank her for coming to his rescue. Would this mean that she has successfully completed the challenge?"

"It's irregular," the Master replied with a half shrug, "What do you think?"

The excitement that boiled over inside Lorenzo was difficult to contain. Striding the halls back to Pandimiglio, he didn't bother to hide his grin. There was no one to see anyway. He paused outside of Genevieve and Negri's room to collect himself before walking in.

"Pandimiglio possessed the last item," he began as he sat down across from Vieve yet again. Her dark eyes pinned him as she heard this information.

"So he wins his place," Negri confirmed.

"He has withdrawn from the competition," Lorenzo corrected him, "His injuries are too much." She hadn't taken her eyes from him. A stray thought wished for Lorenzo to be alone with Vieve but he was reminded that they weren't.

"So what happens with the amulet? Who is the fifth novice?" Negri asked stupidly. Lorenzo felt the weight of Vieve's eyes during this entire exchange. Whether she was hoping that he would name her, or whether she knew already, Lorenzo couldn't guess. But he confirmed her thoughts and congratulated her on making it through as one of the five Assassin Apprentices.


	34. Part 2 - Chapter 13

Not long before the celebration meal, Lorenzo walked with a spring in his step, surprising himself once he noticed it. Vieve's hard work had paid off and she was to be among the newest Assassins to join the organisation. He couldn't claim that he was totally impartial on every single decision he had made to aid her success. He'd had been careful though. Every major decision was backed by the Master.

De Rege, Eposito, Ruggiero and D'angelo were the other Assassins. None blinked an eye about being elected alongside a woman. Or at least, they didn't seem to. Still, their opinions didn't matter. It was highly likely that they wouldn't see each other for a while. Their prospective Assassin Mentors had varying assignments that would carry them on different paths once they were chosen.

Even Fiero's firm assertations that Genevieve's Apprenticeship was a mistake had been overwhelmingly drowned out.

Lorenzo planned to return to the field and take on his own assignments again. He'd need a little over six months to reorganise his personal affairs, his estates and the business. Then he could focus his efforts on preventing the Templars from becoming more powerful.

He didn't know where Vieve fit into his picture. Lorenzo's own feelings had been put aside and he felt accomplished in assisting her with her lofty goals. He was on his way to search her thoughts, to know her feelings again.

Vieve would be bombarded with new things shortly – winning the tournament marked the beginning of her training as an Assassin. It would not be fair to distract her now but Lorenzo could suffer the wait no longer. It was too much.

On his way to see Vieve, he walked down in the west wing. Luckily he left when he had for, Vieve was leaving her room and heading south. She was still dressed in her armour undergarments and she limped dramatically on her left leg.

"Vieve!" he called, stopping her. She turned and her tired face lit up in an instant with a bright smile. Immediately, she began to limp over to him and he quickened his pace so she wouldn't have to go far.

"I came to see how you are faring," he told her as she determinedly approached, he bowed quickly, then he enquired, "Your leg ..." she threw her arms around him and breathlessly kissed him square on the lips, catching him off guard.

Off guard, but not put-off. He kissed back, enjoying her pressing herself against him and wrapping his arms around her to steady them. Lost in the exhilarating moment, he felt her lips against his and he could smell her sweat. She tasted salty, earthy and heavenly all at once.

Vieve's unquestionable pull on him greedily drew out those feelings he had shoved deep and he ached everywhere. It was hard to function humanly. He wanted to be an animal and lie in wait for her orders at her deserving feet.

Coming up for air, they paused and her tanned skin glowed gold in the lowlight of the hallway. Vieve smiled up at him triumphantly, making no apology for her assertive, but not unwelcome, behaviour. Lorenzo marvelled at her.

"Congratulations," he whispered.

"Thank you."

"Did you know Pandimiglio would give you the amulet?" This was a passively burning question in the back of his mind. But she didn't reply.

"Luigi has found you," she whispered instead. Expecting a different set of words, he replayed these in his head to make sure of his hearing.

A cough interrupted from behind him.

Lorenzo frowned, trying to remember when in the last few moments Vieve had a chance to look over his shoulder and simultaneously silently wishing his footman away. "No, a moment more," he rumbled, tightening his hold and chasing her again.

"There's time. After night meal," she laughingly suggested after gracing him with a quick kiss. Lorenzo let all his responsibilities seep back into his consciousness. Luigi probably brought news of final dinner preparations and needed something decided upon. Kissing in the hallways probably wasn't the best idea.

"I'll find you," he told her, slowly letting his hands retreat from her leathered form.

"I'll be here," she nodded before he retracted from her. Desperately though, he held her hand as he turned regretfully to Luigi, agonizingly unwilling to let the moment go.

Luigi's usually kept expression betrayed his suspect feelings of the pair and Lorenzo felt it necessary to gruffly suggest that he "Reconsider how he present himself." The man wiped the trivial grin off his face and eloquently expressed his congratulations of Vieve's success. Lorenzo subconsciously squeezed her hand in agreeance. She accepted Luigi's praise gracefully and clear-eyed, as though she hadn't just been caught in a passionate embrace with his employer. The man then turned to Lorenzo and informed him that the Master wanted to see him immediately and that preparations were expected to be ready on time, in an hour.

It was not in Lorenzo's nature to sigh at his responsibilities – he was acutely aware of what he had signed up for and considered himself effective at the job. He even dared to enjoy his work most days. There were rare occasions, he felt, that his job was very tiresome and demanded too much from him though. He would have to consider how a relationship with Genevieve would impact on his role.

For now, it was the Master first, then night meal, then Genevieve.

In that unequivocal order.

He exhaled audibly and thanked Luigi, though hardly meaning it, then dismissed him. Together, Lorenzo and Genevieve watched the footman disappear around the corner. He knew he was still holding onto Vieve's hand. It was small but solid from over a year of training with harsh metal and leather. Callouses had formed at various points along the pad of her hand. They were hard-working hands worthy of respect.

"Where were you going?" he asked her.

"I'll check on the horses then ready myself for night meal," she replied, smiling happily. She beamed crystal clear radiance uncommon for her face. Usually, it was shrouded in planning or ready for learning or quiet and contemplative.

"Your leg…"

"Will be alright," she reassured calmly, "A few days rest is what I need."

"You deserve more than that." He would not ordinarily stare at anyone and yet, it was difficult to move his eyes from her face. He passed her the scimitar he'd had forged for her, still in its sheath. It was slender, curved and relatively lightweight, reminding Lorenzo of Genevieve herself. He pressed the hilt into her hand. Her eyes questioned him briefly as he told her seriously, "For you. You have earnt every respect."

"Thank you," Vieve's evident awe temporarily took her face and tone, then she collected herself and gave him a smile. Sphinx-like mystery exuded from behind her eyes as she gazed up at him.

She was different. A raw self-assurance, he now saw, lined her face. It pinned him on a level field and commanded his attention. Lorenzo wished to stand there gazing at her authorative face for longer than he knew he had time for.

"I know, the Master is waiting…" he said, verbally shaking himself out of his daydream, using all his willpower to prevent himself from sighing again. He took her hand a final time and hungrily pressed it to his lips, "We have much to discuss." Vieve nodded. If she was disappointed at his departure, it was not evident in her poised face.

Lorenzo stood back, bowed and they both turned to their individual directions in tandem.

The Master was in his office when Lorenzo entered. "This is an interesting development," he said, gesturing to the last of the five names that lay on the table. The Master had been trying to think through something, but he didn't elaborate for Lorenzo's benefit.

"Not undeserved though," Lorenzo agreed, "The woman won through her cunning plans and accurate calculations of her opponents. Both are skills that we continually hone as Assassins."

"Apparently. But no need to convince me. Congratulations Sinacore," the Master smiled, "Genevieve will make an insidious addition to our ranks. She will open up possibilities for us. Do you intend to take her on as an Apprentice?" There was no hiding anything from the Master. His perception was too sharp. Lorenzo didn't feign innocence.

"Absolutely not."

"Genevieve has had a tumultuous past here," the Master went on vaguely.

"Yes. She has overcome her obstacles both explicit and concealed."

"You think that she has suffered more than she lets on?"

"She is the only woman that the recruits have had constant contact with for a long time. I would be surprised if there hasn't been any rivalries in contest for her affections," Lorenzo replied, then stated bluntly, "She was hung for a reason. Perhaps that reason might've been to punish her for her rejection?"

"Nothing like that has ever happened here before," the Master mused. Lorenzo said nothing, also reflecting on the year that has been and noticing the events that happened outside of his control. It was strange to think that the sequence added up to many things that he would never allow if he weren't pressed to consider Genevieve's perspective. If one of the men had suggested that a woman should be allowed to train, he would reject the notion without a second thought. This gave clarity to Genevieve's reasons for undermining him to prove her point.

There was no choice for her but to force his hand.

Vieve showed obstinacy in picking up the sword and shield and facing her opponents. Lorenzo could still remember the exhausted look on her face as she dropped her arms for a quick break between sets. Her cheeks were flushed with effort as she sucked in big brave breaths…

"… the other novices. How have they handled Genevieve's win?" the Master asked Lorenzo presently. Ripped from his daydream, and making a mental note that he should be in the room, he considered his response.

"I haven't noted any difference to previous years, Master. They are disappointed in their own inadequacies, as always. Congratulations have been bestowed upon Genevieve which she has gracefully accepted with a reserved pride," Lorenzo replied honestly. The Master 'hmmmed' and nodded thoughtfully.

"I'm looking forward to night meal. This has been a long tournament," the Master told him, and once again, Lorenzo felt the weight of his responsibilities seeping into every facet of his life, "The Apprentices' must be debriefed afterwards. They will be anxious to learn what they will be doing."

"In my office or here, Master?"

"In your office," He dismissed Lorenzo after enquiring when the feast was prepared for.

Lorenzo walked the halls again, deep in contemplation. Instead of looking to the future, something of the past nagged at him. Genevieve spoke of four men who had hung her. Four men also attacked Pandimiglio. There was no doubt that there were four men amongst them who managed to pull the wool of everyone's eyes. He hoped the four weren't the other Apprentices. This thought was too left-field. It was hard to imagine their hatred of her after they congratulated her on her success.

No, she had said that she didn't know who her attackers were. It was dark, they covered her head, they didn't speak, and she couldn't recall much more.

What a terrible night that was.

Vieve and Pandimiglio both spoke of masked men in the town. No way to identify them either.

Upon reaching his room, Lorenzo undressed and sank into the bath that was prepared there, allowing himself rest for a while. There were few pleasures more satisfying than a bath. He scrubbed his body with the brush, enjoying the scratching sensation against his hot skin as he washed the day away from him.

The peace was short lived.


	35. Part 2 - Chapter 14

Luigi burst into the room – Lorenzo eyed him warily. The footman was out of breath and his eyes were wide with a frightful expression. Such a disturbance could only bring bad news.

Fires!

"Where?" demanded Lorenzo, splashing water everywhere to get out of the bath as quickly as possible.

Two separate fires. One in the east wing, one in the stables. Opposite ends of the establishment.

"How? Are we being attacked?" Lorenzo questioned as he pulled undergarments on. The clothes he had picked out for the feast would not do. He reached for his black hood and weapons sheathed in leather.

Luigi didn't know if they were being attacked by outsiders. Reports from the outposts revealed no untoward activities. It was more likely that the novices were expressing their dissatisfaction. Luigi instructed five guards to the east wing to see what they could do. Two were with the Master. There were seven guards waiting orders outside.

"The novices?"

The footman's grave expression gave Lorenzo his answer. Riots in protest of Genevieve's win.

"Get the Master out and take him to the safe house. Call the five you sent to the east wing and instruct them to take the outpost guards with them too," Lorenzo ordered, "Take the rest of the guards and get the servants out and go with them yourself. Warn any Assassins and recruits left in the castle as you go – they will take care of themselves. Everyone leaves. Defend yourselves if necessary." There was no way that the guards and Assassins make any stand in the castle's defence from within. They were too few and too spread out.

The fires added a complexity too. There was little defence against a wayward fire.

Luigi nodded and did as he was bid. Lorenzo tightened his last belt and left his room. He ran down the passages, to the west wing. Only one person on his mind.

The most recent happy memory Lorenzo had of the hallway outside of Genevieve's room was marred by eerie quietness and haunted by a sinister cloud.

Genevieve's room was empty. The clothes she had set out to wear to the feast, a simple pants and shirt with her boots, lay on her bed. She hadn't returned from the stables and panic crept into Lorenzo's focus.

He left her room with his next destination pictured in mind.

He moved cautiously but swiftly down the hallways, slinking like a cat between shadows. The only sound he made was the faint shuffle of his clothes. Checking before crossing intersections, he looked for trouble.

Further down the next the hallway was a dead man. Cattaneo, blood oozing from a clean cut to the neck. Lorenzo spared him no time as he whispered past – the man was dead – and continued along the passageway to the door that lead outside.

He stopped and stared.

An inferno stood where the stables had been, threatening the darkness with its fearsome light and licking the air with its blistering tongue. Horses galloped in terror into the night – at least someone had thought of them. A piercing whistle brought Psyche to Lorenzo. She was breathing hard, her eyes wild with fright, but she put her muzzle trustingly into his hands. With his horse, Lorenzo approached the formidable blaze locking his fear inside his belly.

Three men idly stood watching the burning building, next to the troughs in the stable yard. They were talking amongst themselves and laughing at their own remarks. Franzese gesticulated with his hands and made crude signs towards the inferno. Barone and Rosetti both joined in and added their own.

Cattaneo, dead in the hallway. That made four.

"Ah, here comes _Sir_ ," said the biggest tauntingly as Lorenzo cautiously approached, "The impartial one. We saw you kissing that bitch. We aren't as stupid as you think, _Sir_. We know you've had a soft spot for her from the beginning. Fiero was right. _You_ _let her win._ "

They fanned out with their weapons. Lorenzo's minds' eye saw the formation. The scimitar that he gave Genevieve was held by the ringleader, Franzese. He was disgusted that his careful background checks had not picked up on these prejudiced arsonists. Impatience mounted, disdain mounted, and fury mounted, welling to fill Lorenzo up to his raging red eyes.

"What have you done?" he hissed. Despite the roar that erupted behind them, he knew they heard him clearly.

"What a man should've done," Barone replied.

"She begged for her life as though it were worth something. Didn't' she? She said we could do whatever _we_ wanted to her if we let her live. But nobody likes sloppy seconds, do they Sinacore?" the first one, Franzese, went on, "Not even worth the trouble. She died screaming sweet agony and calling your name," he laughed, "Little did she know that you'd be too late."

A flick of the wrist dispatched the, until now, silent man on Lorenzo's left with a throwing knife. Rosetti gurgled in surprise and sank to his knees. The man on the right, Barone, approached warily with a sword but Lorenzo was too swift and confident in his own abilities. He parried and spun, checking the man in the chest with his own short sword. Making quick work of the weakling.

The last man, who had Genevieve's scimitar, laughed and laughed. "Are you dumb as well as lovesick? She's d-e-a-d. Dead. Look, she gave me this as though it were equal to her life. I'd rather have this than her in my bed. Fiero said that she's had some whoring escapades with various Assassins." Lorenzo kept his own thoughts to himself as he marched on the last man.

"What else did Fiero tell you?" he asked.

"He told us that the Tournaments were rigged. How much did they pay you to ensure they won?" Franzese goaded.

"You've been misled."

"Ha! I don't think so. It appears to me that everything Fiero has told us, was right."

And that was all that needed to be said. Franzese was the most skilled of the three. His form was solid, his strikes were well timed and his footwork made him a formidable opponent.

However, Lorenzo's eyes were red, seeking revenge, and he cut Franzese's Achilles in a furry of quick strikes, bringing him painfully to the ground. His mad smile was gone and he certainly wasn't laughing anymore as his life liquid gushed from his heels.

Lorenzo wasn't done.

He grabbed the man's mop hair and dragged him over to the trough. The man was not easy to kneel as the tendon that held his legs taunt weren't working anymore. He faced the man at the blaze before them – forcing him to watch through tears and blood streaming down his screaming face.

"Whose name will you call as your life ebbs from your body?" Lorenzo leaned down to ask him quietly in his ear, "Who will avenge your death?" He slit the man's throat but held him up by the hair so his dying eyes had to watch the inferno he had created.

And when there was no life left in the executed, Lorenzo tossed his body aside. Already forgotten.

The heat was unbearable, but Lorenzo forced himself to walk slowly around the doomed building, searching, searching, searching for any sign that Genevieve might've escaped. The roaring sound was undercut by falling beams and cracking wood. The roof caved in a burst of heat and embers.

Behind him, a mirror fire ate away at the castle. The home that he had jealously guarded with every fibre of his being, resigned herself to her devastating fate. There was nothing he could do.

The fire died as the day was dawning.

Out of spark, out of fuel, out of breath.

Lorenzo, the remaining witness, stood sentinel.

Afterwards, he razed the rest of the castle to the ground. And simply left.


	36. Part 3 - Chapter 1

_Six months later._

In surveying the party scene, Lorenzo automatically took on the atmosphere. The men wore their tails in varying demure colours. They gathered in their cliches and spent their time talking about various conquests: new business ventures, new laws in government, new competitors and old rivalries. Always with a grim smile and always with a forced laugh.

The ladies also gathered in their respective cliches. Their sweeping gowns brought all colours to the room with varying degrees of silver and gold linings. Their groups were more based on age and status.

The older women, children flown the coop women, eyed all other women across the room less conspicuously than their younger counterparts and their comments carried further.

"...what is she wearing!?"

"...her ladies are out tonight..."

"...what a strumpet..."

"...why is he talking to her..."

The younger wives, with children at home, eyed the debutants jealously. They were the wives of up-and-coming men and referred always to their status to ensure they were behaving correctly and bragging within their station. They spoke in hushed voices about their children who had home tutors and whose husbands were being faithful/successful.

"...he is looking her way..."

"...my husband has increased his business..."

"...we hire two tutors – one for each child..."

The debutants gathered like a flock of frightened finches. Preyed upon and dissected by not only their older counterparts but also the men in the room, they were the main attractions. Their patterned dresses drew the eye to their figures as they walked with an innocent twist of the hips. If Lorenzo could hear them, and if he cared, he would hear them whisper about him when he strode past them.

"...that's Lorenzo Sinacore..."

"...he's back from across the Mediterranean..."

"...no wife yet. Must be soon..."

"...I spoke to him once. Impeccable manners..."

Lorenzo was approached by a man, an affiliate of Lorenzo's contacts, with his wife and a nervous looking young woman. The young woman naturally caught his attention and he was introduced to her.

"Sinacore, this is my wife, Macella and our daughter, Sofia," the man told him. Lorenzo, gave Macella the appropriate kiss on the back of the hand

"Lovely to meet you, Macella," he told the short lady with the curls she had given to her daughter.

"And also you, Sofia," Lorenzo studiously added, kissing the daughter's hand too. She had a lovely round face, framed with voluptuous curls that sprang from her forehead and down to her shoulders. Interestingly different to every other head of hair in the room. She had porcelain skin and delicate blue eyes. Sofia knew her manners as she curtseyed, with a bowed head.

The man, Guilano, began to talk politics but Lorenzo cut him short, "My friend," Lorenzo laughed with a wide smile, "This is a party – not a government house. Please, leave the work talk for work."

A little off-put, the man conceded. "Isn't my daughter lovely?" he asked instead. Lorenzo knew all too well what this meant. He agreed with Guilano, smiling at Sofia who shyly accepted the praise.

"She is to be sixteen, soon," Marcella added. So young.

"A good age to be," Lorenzo toasted her. Sofia blushed. She was one of many such young ladies brought to him and hinted at, even during the course of this one night. This one was lovelier in the face than others and she had a certainty that came with her status. Those curls too – they were remarkable. Lorenzo felt it necessary to tell her so. But she was much too young, barely a child. Lorenzo pitied her and all her sufferances in order to marry well. He would not be swayed with unique curls alone.

"Marcella, did you enjoy the theatre?" he asked Macella. The woman, surprised to be spoken to again so soon said that it was most agreeable.

"And you, Sofia? What was your favourite part?" Lorenzo asked. The blue eyes froze in fright, like a deer.

"The singing, of course," she managed a meek reply. Lorenzo nodded approvingly but wondered if the young woman recalled anything about the story that had been presented to them. "And you?" Sofia managed to ask after sucking in a breath.

"Me also, the singing," he agreed lamely. In fact, the music was the most interesting part of the operetta. If he could get away with it, he would close his eyes while attending the opera and lose himself in the swirling sounds that quickened the heart and tricked the mind. The onstage theatrics were visuals he could do without. Unfortunately, the people on stage were not the only watched beings in a theatre and sitting there with eyes closed was a sure-fire way to drawn unwanted attention to oneself.

"I'm curious, Sofia, what do you think of the fact that women aren't allowed to perform on the stage?" he asked suddenly. She frowned in confusion and looked to her parents for guidance. They could not help her though, Lorenzo asked for her opinion.

"I believe that women have their rightful place," Sofia replied hesitantly, "In the home and with her children." An uninspiring answer but her upbringing guided her again as she asked him, "What say you?"

"There is a certain kind of arrogance borne of men who believe they can play a women character better than a woman could. Women are far more capable than they are allowed to be, Sofia. While I don't expect you to tell me that you would love a chance to act on a stage, what would you do if you could do anything you wanted?"

"Sir, I don't think this is an appropriate conversation for our daughter," Guilano injected carefully then gave a nervous laugh, "Can you imagine what would happen to our world, our order if women could do anything they wanted?" Marcella nodded, supporting her husband.

"Oh, Sir, I mean no harm. Just arguments sake," Lorenzo laughed with a friendly hand on this man's shoulder, "It's not as though we are changing laws here. I'd like to hear the young lady's thoughts." The bar rested on Sofia's shoulders as she glanced at her parents again, who had guided her with their disapproval of the conversation topic, and Lorenzo, who waited, patiently as always, for her reply.

"I would be at home, caring for my husband and children," she said, scaring away any further thoughts Lorenzo might've had about her.

The night went on and Lorenzo managed to shed his present company after an obligatory dance with the plain young woman with the resplendent curls, Sofia. His high hopes of her gentle face and dark curls matching a mind equal to that of Genevieve's had been dashed.

She often sat with him in the darkness of his carriage on his way back to his villa in Tuscany. Where Lorenzo sat shrouded in a cloak of black, Vieve shone bright as day, clear as a bell on the seat directly across from him. Usually she would talk to him, tell him the answers to all the questions he'd pressed on each young woman he had been introduced to during the course of the night. Answering his questions easily with her own mind, her own opinions, her own logic.

Not tonight. Never on nights like this.

Tonight, the Genevieve in his mind watched him with her dangerously darkling eyes in fastidious silence. She was less clear than the last time she manifested in his space. Fuzzy around the edges. Charred and smoking.

"Is everything alright?" a sultry, feminine voice interrupted his mind's eye from next to him. There was naught for it but to acknowledge the strumpet's presence. Lorenzo handed her into the carriage himself so it was no surprise that she was there. He couldn't see her in the darkness but she slid close to him, her warm body wrapping itself around his arm.

As the woman spoke again to ask him gently, "What are you thinking about, love?", Genevieve across from him frowned and her displeased eyes moved from him, to the passing darkness outside the window. Smouldering and dormant.

He sighed heavily, recognising Vieve's resentment as his own, "Nothing." He surrendered himself without any happiness to keeping the strumpet for the night.

The next day, he left the woman in his room. She knew she would not see him in the morning and that she would be appropriately compensated. That was the arrangement. He wandered his Villa aimlessly for a while, expecting ghostly company like usual.

Genevieve didn't reappear to him. The halls echoed his singular footsteps. Her absence was sadly noted.


	37. Part 3 - Chapter 2

A letter awaited Lorenzo at the breakfast table. He opened it with fervour, wanting to know its contents in response to a letter that he had written only last week.

 _Sir, Ezio has indicated that things are moving in Venice. He needs help to cover more ground. I said I'd send you. Go to him as soon as practical. Luigi._

 _Venice._ The canal-city beckoned Lorenzo from the letter that Luigi quilled to him. Ezio needed assistance. Excitement built up in Lorenzo's mind – it has been years since he saw one of the only men he considered a close friend. Now he was ready to re-join the field, it seemed natural that he would do it with Ezio.

Within two weeks, spurred on by accepted loneliness and the urgency of the letter, Lorenzo completed tying up all his business affairs. The Villa in Tuscany would hold a skeleton staff in his absence. He announced to his business partners that he was going to be unreachable again due to another long trip. This time, he was, apparently, on his way North East, to Russia, in an attempt to expand the business through brokering a deal with the Grand Duchy of Moscow. The business partners said nothing. It was not an uncommon occurrence for Lorenzo to be away for a year at a time. He was the boss and the Bank would operate in Lorenzo's best interest but without his input – that's what he paid his business partners lavishly for. Those were the perks of founding a bank that dealt in the most common and far-reaching currency on the European market.

Luigi also formally informed Lorenzo of Fiero's defection. It was not clear how long Fiero played both sides of the table. He firmly aligned himself with the Templars when Lorenzo discovered that he had orchestrated the arson of the castle. This forced the cancellation of the Apprenticeships that were to take place, putting the Assassin's back to square one in their recruiting process. Not to mention, Genevieve's devastating death. A major setback for the Brotherhood. Fiero's viewpoint was unclear. Why he had abandoned the Brotherhood after his father had paved the way for him was incomprehensible. In any case, desertion of the Brotherhood was unforgivable and Fiero's assassination was inevitable. Furious, Lorenzo set himself the task of finding the young rogue Assassin and performing the assassination personally.

It would not be easy. Fiero all but vanished. With other issues arising on the home front, Lorenzo had to shelve the manhunt for Fiero until he could operate independently again. He could be anywhere by now. Ezio's current mission, however, was imminent. Perhaps they would find a lead on Fiero together in their investigations of the Venetian Templars.

Signing his name, Lorenzo Sinacore, for what would be the last time in a while, he turned in early in order to sleep well before the ride in the morning. Thoughts fixed firmly on seeing Ezio again and helping him.

Venice was a hive of activity. The busy port was the gateway from the western Mediterranean to the Italian North into Switzerland and Germany. Many different languages were spoken, bridging the gap between cultures and countries. Merchants bought and sold unique and valuable items. People vied for their customers attention in the pumping marketplaces. The variety of languages meant that it was a loud and boisterous place. This was a rich man's town where any and every whim was met. If Greek décor was the desire, you would find a Greek merchant and go from there. If resplendent food from Turkey was the pick of the moment, a Turkish restaurant was not hard to find. The finest gems from Morocco, the gateway to the Africas, were found in Venice. There were banks and lawyers for all situations in love and business. The inhabitants spent money just as quickly as they made it.

This made it an ideal banking capital. Someone else from Lorenzo's bank handled the Venice branch of his business, meaning that he could fly largely under the radar here. Having little to do with general business operations also distanced him. To blur the lines between himself and the bank, he used his alias: Lorenzo Zanetti.

There was an Inn in the centre of the city. It was a splendid, bubbling place with large rooms that fronted the canal where occasionally there were yells of 'Bonjorno' every now again to passers-bys on gondolas.

Ezio came to the lobby to welcome Lorenzo. The tall, stern gentleman with the intense gaze smiled warmly as he welcomed his friend to Venice. He was a straight up and down man. Ezio embraced Lorenzo affectionately, "Come! There's wine upstairs."

His apartment was decorated with bright wallpaper, green curtains and golden furniture. From the entranceway, a hall intersected, leading to four separate bedrooms, two to each side. Directly across the entranceway was a door that lead to a sitting room complete with books shelved on one side and mirrors on the other. Also annexed to this room was a dining room. Mirrors featured throughout the apartment, making the space seem much larger than it was.

Ezio poured wine for them and they sat to remember younger days, previous missions and exchange information about their most recent endeavours.

Lorenzo eased back into the comfortable relationship but the shadows of the castle and his recent failures hung over his head. He worked hard to shove the embarrassment of it all down and focus on the task of helping Ezio.

Ezio was the legend amongst Assassins. He was accurate, successful and ruthless. Some considered him to have some sixth sense, a higher calling that guided him and his actions. But he was a largely quiet and excessively observant fellow.

"Please, tell me about what's been happening here in Venice," Lorenzo eagerly wanted to know how he could help. He was as ready as ever and felt no judgement from Ezio, who would have heard all about the goings on in his communications with the Brotherhood.

"As you know, I was sent here to track Saburo Cadenza – a lawyer and a Templar from a long time ago. This city is difficult to navigate. The canals don't help. There are some that are closed to the public, Borgia guards are at their entrances and exits. Entire islands I can't access. I suspect that the buildings along these canals belong to the Templars. The rooves are constantly patrolled making spying difficult. I don't know what they are up to, but the Borgia guards have been increasing steadily," Ezio sighed, "There's a build-up. To what – I don't know."

"How can I help?" was Lorenzo's next question. Ezio smiled at him.

"I am glad you're here. There's a new Templar whose name I haven't heard before. Kaapo Verdi. He is a merchant of some sort. Here, in Venice, every man and his dog is a merchant. Verdi seems to have only recently been made a Templar. I need to know why.

But Venice is a rabbit's warren. A wrong turn down the wrong street and the Borgia guards will see you and start asking questions. I wish I could give you some kind of map to help you on your way around but I can't. You'll just have to use your skills to procure information and find your own way."

From there, Ezio described the different sectors of Venice. Cannaregio was the poor man's district, Castello the wealthy people's residences. San Marco was the entertainment centre with San Polo in behind that housed churches and shops. Art galleries were found in Dorsoduro which drew the higher class of inhabitants. However, across the Grand Canal, lived the working-class people in Guidecca. San Croce backed onto the Port of Venice and consisted the various marketplaces offering everything directly off the ship.

"Verdi is a merchant. So I'll visit the marketplace," Lorenzo stated decisively. He wanted to get to work.

"Yes but get a feel for Venice first. Walk around, see how the canals work, notice the Borgia guards," Ezio encouraged him, "We'll talk more once you've seen the City." Lorenzo's friend was right. There was only one way to learn how Venice worked and that was to experience it himself.


	38. Part 3 - Chapter 3

It was good to be anonymous. Lorenzo walked around Venice, noting its inhabitants and the items on offer at various shops. No one recognised him so no one competed for his attentions. Or his affections. Whispers didn't follow him. He was expected to be a common citizen – and so, he smiled less, said 'hello' less and sucked in the salty sea breeze uninterrupted.

He spent his first few weeks frequenting cafes in piazzas and watching the world turn. He noted the location of various landmarks: churches, art galleries, canal intersections, etc. Never, had he ever, been in a more lovely but confusing city. The canals lapped gently at the walls but snaked around the buildings with sinister intent. Each gondola looked like the last one, manned by matching moustachioed men.

The general public were a downcast people, despite living in a breathtaking part of the world. Nothing seemed to exist outside the limits of the islands in the city. People spoke about their affairs with hushed voices, lest someone they know would hear.

Nature seemed devoid in Venice. There were pockets of courtyards reserved for the wealthier people in Castello. These were private and miniscule compared to the gardens of the castle that Lorenzo missed. The other districts were uniform and unyielding to any kind of nature. Each square inch was used space for anything other than nature. Lorenzo longed for the rolling hills and cultivated fields of his home.

For all their accomplishments, humans advanced their own race in front of all other animals and plants. If humans proceeded to spread rapidly, they would soon die for lack of resources.

Venice was a prime example of this. All of the food on the island was imported from the mainland or arrived on ships. In procuring a unique lifestyle, they had successfully made life difficult for themselves.

What an oxymoronic existence!

Lorenzo's only goal in life was to prevent the Templars from getting what they wanted. That was the beginning and the end. They would do terrible things with the technology if it ever landed in their hands. There wouldn't be any life as citizens knew it, if they succeeded to bear the power of technology. That was why the Assassins strived to ensure that no significant item fell into their hands.

But what about himself? Where was the end-game for him?

It was in this state of pondering human existence that Lorenzo strolled around the city built on petrified wood. The hum of activity from other people, from boats and from general life surrounding him mismatched the desolation within himself. In his quiet solitude, the world reflected chaos.

Until he walked so far, to a place he couldn't recognise, and there suddenly wasn't any life around him. Save the constant lap of water against the walls.

There was nothing for him but to go back.

"The Spanish," Ezio said distractedly over breakfast one morning, through a mouthful of food. Lorenzo waited for more from the Assassin, half way through chewing when he began his sentence, remembered his manners.

"The Spanish," he repeated, now looking at Lorenzo, "They've lost some treasure to Drake, who has returned. Or so I've read from England."

"Oh, he's been around the Earth in a single expedition. What a triumph. But Ezio, how do you know that the Spanish have lost treasure to him?"

"A source in Plymouth," Ezio replied, "The Assassin there has been keeping a close eye on the expeditions that leave and return. Including the treasures they bring back."

"Did he say what the treasures were?"

"No. But now that I'm considering it, it seems odd to call them Spanish treasures when they plundered the natives in the Americas for these artifacts. Templars funded the Spanish expedition after Magellan proved it could be done, under Loaisa. Though not quite so successfully or as quickly as Magellan."

"What was the difference in time?"

"3 years for Magellan. 11 for Loaisa."

Lorenzo whistled, "A long time at sea for either Portugese and Spaniard. But markedly longer for the Spaniard."

"In any case, I hope that the English Assassin had the sense to keep a close eye on those artifacts. Who knows what they might turn out to be." Lorenzo wasn't privy to the specifics of what the Assassin in front of him was talking about but he nodded in agreement. "How are you finding Venice?"

"It is different. But not totally impossible." Lorenzo's thoughts turned to home again. Ezio considered his friend with an interested eye.

"Tell me what happened at the castle." Lorenzo's heart sank at these words. He hoped to avoid the subject and move on like he already had mentally. He should've guessed that the Assassin would enquire. Not much went past Ezio.

"Fiero destroyed it," Lorenzo admitted, "The Templars that Fiero were following in Rome disappeared. His instructions were to find more information about the Tokens. Same as you. We think he carried out assassinations instead. In any case, he did not part with any knowledge. Nobody knew anything."

"Yes, see, that doesn't make sense. Fiero disobeys orders? For what? And why would he bother returning to the castle?" Ezio asked.

"When I find him, I'll ask," Lorenzo intoned with annoyance.

"Renzo, I'm sorry. I know it must've been infuriating for you. You're a meticulous person but Fiero fooled everyone. It's as you say, nobody knew anything," Ezio pressed gently, with an open hand, "These things don't happen for no reason. It appears too risky for Fiero to come back. Unless it was more risky for Fiero not to come back..." Lorenzo tried to let the conversation slide. He didn't want to talk about this at all. He looked everywhere in the room except for at Ezio. In turn, Ezio watched Lorenzo very carefully. Waiting.

"One of the Apprentices was there because of Fiero," there he said it but he couldn't look Ezio in the eye as he spoke, so he looked down at the ground in front of his feet.

"Do you think Fiero planted a spy within the castle?"

This was a question that lurked menacingly in the back of Lorenzo's mind. At the time, Genevieve seemed genuinely interested in her own goals. Her reserved nature and solitary preference did not cast her in a favourable light.

All this weighed in Lorenzo's mind along with his own desperate desire for her to be a simple person looking to expand on their current status. This self-sufficient quality was what he loved the most about Genevieve.

"No."

Ezio fixed him with a patient look, "Lorenzo, what are you not telling me? I don't usually glean information from you like this."

"I know very little myself. This woman... Genevieve... turned up asking for Fiero. He was hard to get a hold of and I didn't know what to do with her. I couldn't very well let her go and I don't think she would've even if I told her to..."

From there, Lorenzo managed to tell Ezio the bare bones of how Genevieve had suggested that she should be allowed to fight and her journey as a novice.

Briefly, Lorenzo seriously considered telling Ezio. Telling him about Vieve and himself. These uncharacteristic thoughts sprung from nowhere with a severe desire to be out in the open as a way of proving to himself that they were real events and not ones that occurred within his own head. He considered telling Ezio about how much Vieve had meant to him, for his own good. To see if he could do it.

But he couldn't. With Ezio's line of questioning, Lorenzo knew what it looked like. It looked like Fiero had planted a spy at the castle. It looked like Genevieve was not all she said she was. Besides, it was difficult enough to think of her as dead.

"Did you question Genevieve? Where is she?"

Lorenzo had spoken her name. Now he would speak the atrocious words out loud. "She died in the fire."

"I see this is a sore point for you, my friend. I'm sorry. Do not feel responsible though. It could've happened to anyone."

"A complete failure is what it is. Now we have no Apprentices, much less a place to train them," Lorenzo shook a fist in anger, sat back and sighed. They couldn't all be perfect like Ezio, who knew what to do, who to trust and how to organise people.

"Why would Fiero want Genevieve dead though?" Ezio wondered, "Especially if they are allies?"

"I don't think they were allies by the time she progressed from recruit to novice. Something went bad. He threatened her. Protested her progression." Ezio nodded thoughtfully.

"Once we're finished here. We'll find Fiero," Ezio promised him, "Let's move onto more pressing matters. Kaapo Verdi. Start in the taverns near the marketplace."


	39. Part 3 - Chapter 4

The Castille de Croce smelled of wine and had a festive cheer about the place. The long tables, that cut the room three times, were full of varying patrons. The Castille was well lit and barmaids toured the rows, bringing beer, food and smiles to the men, often lightly admonishing them for their cheekiness.

Casual enquiries of Verdi said he often frequented this tavern. Lorenzo, dressed in simple workers clothes, attempted to locate his target on his own but it was near impossible without having met the man before. Asking the bartender to point Verdi out was too risky. It might alert the target to the fact that he was being observed.

He ordered a glass of wine and sat at the bar to listen in to various conversations.

The men closest to where he was sitting, somewhere in the middle of the bar, were talking about an event had attend just earlier today. They were teasing a particular man about being struck by lightning upon setting eyes on a young woman. The accused blushed and denied as best as he could, but his friends didn't let up, offering all sorts of advice and encouragement in his love-life.

Further along the bench, sat four men deep in conversation with each other. They leaned in, consorting earnestly. Their voices too low for Lorenzo to hear.

"...is hosting a ball before Carnivale. In honour of his late father..." This came from the opposite direction in the tavern. Lorenzo pretended to study the bottles on the wall behind the bar as he turned his ear toward this new conversation. "... half of Castello is invited. The other half knows why they're not..."

This went on for what seemed to be hours. The hum in the tavern brought snippets of information to Lorenzo as he sat at the bar and absorbed it all. Nothing of what he heard was said about Verdi or the Templars. A wasted afternoon.

An obese man stormed into the Castille. His round flabby red face spoke of discontent and suggested that he usually expressed this emotion. As he moved his weight inside and toward the bar he called for alcohol loudly, "Wine! Now!"

"Giuseppe," the bartender welcoming the heaving man with a warm smile, " _Come stai_?" Clearly, the man was a regular and the bartender amiably greeted him with the same candour as all his customers.

"I'm not in the mood," Giuseppe grouched at the bartender. Lorenzo watched the man in the mirror behind the bar. The loud man sighed angrily and put both hands on the bar. He was missing a finger on his right hand. A recent wound because it was wrapped with a bloody bandage. The bartender froze when he saw it. Lorenzo could hear the indecision in the bartender's head as he considered whether he should ask and open Pandora's Box of trouble or keep his mouth shut and allow Giuseppe to come around to the topic by himself.

"Uh..." he passed a glass of wine to the big man.

"Bring the bottle!" Giuseppe barked, emphasising with a fist to the bar. Using his sore hand. Cursing out loud with a roar, he held his wrist with his other hand. The entire bar went quiet, every eye in the place was on the fat man at the bar. Didn't he know it though. He glowered at all of them and held up the bandaged finger. Bored, Lorenzo swung from his cup, wondering what elaborate story this man was going to tell about how he lost his finger.

"Don't take your hard-earned money to Genevieve's. This is what she did to me!" the man announced to his new found audience. Lorenzo choked on his drink and sat up at the bar coughing as the entire room murmured. Did he hear correctly?

"You think this is funny!?" the fat man screeched at Lorenzo, being the nearest person with the oddest reaction to his announcement.

"No. No sir," Lorenzo recovered as quickly as he could to respond to the confrontation, "Forgive me, I am a visitor and was not expecting what you just said. Please, allow me pay for that bottle of wine. Losing a finger is no small thing." A tense moment passed as the man-less-a-finger scrutinised Lorenzo, attempting to ascertain if he was being sincere or sarcastic. Evidently, he settled on the former and the triple chins nodded at Lorenzo. Who in turn, nodded at the bartender. The bartender gratefully passed him a bottle as he produced three florins, and scampered away. Obviously relieved in palming the responsibility of talking to this particular man to someone else.

Up close, Giuseppe was sharp-eyed, contrasting the fatty curves on his body. "I am Lorenzo Zanetti," Lorenzo poured more wine for himself.

"Giuseppe Gallo."

"Salute," Lorenzo toasted him. But the loud man was not satisfied with just Lorenzo's attention. He sought the eyes and ears of others around him too. It wasn't until there were four or five men, whose interest in Gallo's unfortunate accident surrounded them that they heard another word about his finger.

Gallo was a boisterous man with a loud mouth – not Lorenzo's usual company. He quickly tired of the usual machoism but endured it until Gallo's face grew dark as he was ready to speak of his troubles.

"That bitch Genevieve!" he declared vehemently, "If that's even her name. I'll never set foot in that place again. Not even if they came to get me with gold horses!"

"I don't understand," declared one of the other men, saving Lorenzo from revealing his own ignorance, "Who is Genevieve?"

"Are you thick?" Gallo asked, "Genevieve's is the exclusive club for patrons of Cavazza's."

"Oh, the auctions..." filled in another man, "Aren't they already exclusive?"

"Of course. But if you buy the one of the most expensive items for that day's auctions, they send an... escort..." here Gallo's face split into a suggestive smile, "... around to you to invite you to Genevieve's. It's not worth it however. They are second rate whores with flabby breasts and slow smiles. I would not recommend it." Lorenzo suspected this had something to do with the fact that his finger was missing. He was disappointed to hear that Genevieve's was synonymous with a whore-house.

"Your finger," Lorenzo directed the conversation, "I can't imagine how painful that must've been."

"Yea, how does such a thing happen?" asked one of the other men.

"I was tied to a chair when she did it. As if I'd stand still long enough for someone to chop my finger off! Are you Sicilian? She even smiled sadistically at me!"

"Sure Gallo, but why?" one man asked.

"She thinks that she has taught me not to touch things," Gallo gave a hollow laugh, "She doesn't know me very well! I'll touch whatever I want!" Lorenzo considered this. If Genevieve's was a whorehouse, then what had Gallo done to deserve the removal of a finger?

"How did you come to be tied to a chair?" asked another.

"She has guards. They incapacitated me. She would have not stood a chance against me by herself."

"This is very odd, Sir. You're telling me that there is a woman in Venice called Genevieve and she goes around chopping people's fingers off?" Lorenzo confirmed. Gallo appraised him with a wary look. "It's odd, is it not?" Lorenzo sought the support of some of the men who nodded. They were simple workers.

"God only knows what occurs in the minds of women – fickle creatures that they are. What's a finger to them? Perhaps it will be your cock next! She is the devil incarnate! If I ever see her again, I'll take her whole hand!" Gallo said heatedly. His mouth spat spittle unattractively and he slammed his left fist onto the table, a wild look in his eyes.

"Of course. Have you attempted to locate her to effectuate revenge?" asked Lorenzo, casually swigging from his glass again.

"Indeed, I have tried. But she wore a mask when she took my finger. Cowardly! She moves her operation around frequently."

"Operation? Sounds like she is organised."

"Absolute rubbish, is what I think it sounds like. Calls herself a businesswoman!" Gallo gave a sarcastic laugh, "Just because a business flourishes for a couple of months does not make it successful. _I_ have been in business for thirty years and I am still the – best – merchant in all of Venice!"

"We wish you many successful years to come," Lorenzo toasted him with the support of some of the men surrounding them. They drank. "What's the point of this 'Genevieve's' then?"

"To rob the wealthy of their money!" cried Gallo like he was talking to a simpleton, "They charge you for your drinks, a show, the whores that stay with you. The women are average in the face but not as nice and supple as at Dalvarro's. Then when you try to take your money's worth, Genevieve steals your finger!"

"I didn't think Cavazza would affiliate themselves with such a person," spoke up another man, "You'd think they'd lose money."

"I don't wish to cross the Cavazza's," Gallo said regally, "Now there's also another highly accomplished business. Been in Venice for years and then Genevieve comes along to leech from their success. No, I will not speak out against Cavazza. But they will hear about what that whore has been doing..."

Lorenzo had as much as he needed. He left the conversation quickly after that and vacated the tavern.

The darkness echoed his questions back to him that night. The multitude of questions kept him awake, wondering about Genevieve. Wondering if she survived. Wondering if she was in Venice. Wondering if Genevieve now chopped people's fingers off to teach them lessons. Had she turned to whoring? The darkness didn't hold any answers for him, only repeated the questions back to Lorenzo. And with this self-reflection, he realised just how insane he sounded.

Genevieve had died, in the fire, at the castle. There was nothing more to it.

So, when Lorenzo found himself asking at a different tavern about how to get into Cavazza's, he was genuinely surprised with himself.

The next monthly meet wasn't until Saturday. This Saturday. Which was good because Lorenzo didn't think he could wait.

He mentioned to Ezio, in passing, and very briefly at that, about Cavazza's. Ezio responded with interest, encouraging his friend to try and confirm a link between Cavazza's and the Templars, something he suspected but didn't have the evidence.

"Anything on Verdi yet?" Ezio asked. Lorenzo replied in the negative.


	40. Part 3 - Chapter 5

Lorenzo stood in Ezio's hallway, still surprised. The atmosphere at auctions was generally addictive and created an irresistible buzz. Honour and ego were on the line when buyers bet on an item. That and beating any opposing bids spurred buyers on to push their bank accounts to the limits for the simplest of items. Lorenzo didn't get carried away. He knew the value of his money.

With this in mind, he admired his purchase. Or was at least trying to. The gold miniature human looking back at him had an unnerving pupil-less gaze, rendering Lorenzo the one who was being observed. Two large ear loops, big enough to fit Lorenzo's own index finger through sat either side of his head and he wore an elaborate headdress. He stood on the hilt of a ceremonial knife, that had been shipped to Venice from the Incan territory across the Ocean, but it wasn't a knife as Lorenzo knew it.

It resembled an up-side-down T-shape, the cross bar was a half-moon with the crescent pointing downwards and the little man stood upright at the top. It was no longer than his forearm and propped the right way up in a glass case with it's own specially made stand.

In all of Lorenzo's readings of other cultures and history, he had never witnessed anything like it and half of his imagination wondered what it was used for. The crescent was the sharpest point of the knife and he imagined holding the little man across his palm and stabbing downwards. It seemed an ineffectual tool because of the crescent shaped blade.

The other half of his imagination hoped against everything that the staggering 1100 florin he had spent on this artefact, remarkable as it was, was enough to grant him special entry into Genevieve's. He had abandoned his tracking of Verdi for now, in favour of attending Cavazza's to buy what he hoped against all odds would lead him to Genevieve.

It was ridiculous. He didn't tell Ezio. Ezio didn't need to know. So when Ezio entered and gazed at the knife with a question mark on his face, Lorenzo told him that it was a collectable and that he couldn't help himself. Ezio didn't appear to buy the story but neither did he question Lorenzo. Ezio's only question was if Lorenzo had learned anything, to which he replied in the negative. He came and was gone again.

Lorenzo didn't have to wait for very long for a visit from Genevieve.

The attendant opened the door to the sitting room and stood with his hand on it. His manner reminded Lorenzo of Luigi, who was more fluid, seamless and quick-witted character. Not for the first time, he missed his first man.

The attendant bowed low presently and announced, "Miss Genevieve." Lorenzo's heart jumped into his throat as a woman made her formal entrance. Ezio was out attending to business. Thankfully.

She wore a mask of porcelain cream that covered her entire face and atop her head was an exquisite headpiece – not unlike the one that the little man standing on the hilt of the ceremonial knife wore. She wore an elaborate dress of spun crimson and off-white in a ball-gown style. Cinched at the waist and flowing to the floor, the dress swept the tiles as she glided to stand in the middle of the room and performed a low curtsey where she paused, waiting.

Nearly forgetting his own manners, Lorenzo welcomed her and stood to bow himself.

"Signore Zanetti," she greeted him as she stood again, her voice muffled by the mask. The attendant had disappeared magically. "Congratulations on your most esteemed purchase," she motioned to the doorway, from where she came and moved to inspect the Incan artefact, her shoes clopping like a horse on cobblestone and echoed in the room. If she recognised Lorenzo, there was no hint, no telltale sign that gave her away.

As he drew close to her, eyes fixed on her inscrutable porcelain face, a citrus perfume invaded Lorenzo's nose. He noted that she was covered from head to toe in material: her arms wore long gloves, her neck exhibited a marvellous necklace that joined her mask to her dress and there was not a square inch of skin for Lorenzo's inspection. She wasn't dressed to entice his carnal pleasures.

She, however, only had eyes for the ceremonial knife.

"This knife was shipped from an Incan village across the sea. Not much is known about it as the Spanish have conquered the cultures over in the Americas. There are no Incans left. It is unfortunate but necessary. So, Signor Zanetti, you must be careful with who you intend to show it to. I hope you don't have any patriotic Spanish friends," she finished slowly but lightly, pinning him with her eyes, "Lest they want their artifact back."

After a short pause, she resumed her quiet speech, and with a gloved hand, she produced a key the size of her open palm, and with an emerald in it's eye, "Signore Zanetti, I offer you this gift and invite you to visit us at Genevieve's Theatre. By receiving this key, you accept that we may come to collect you in two weeks. Genevieve's Theatre is an exclusive privilege and we keep it this way through our secrecy. You are at liberty to refuse, if you prefer, but this offer will not be extended again."

Of course, Lorenzo accepted with thanks. The key was weighty and it glittered with gold as he inspected it.

"We look forward to receiving you at Genevieve's Theatre," the elegant woman said and curtseyed once more. Lorenzo bowed, thanked her and she rose to sweep herself through the entranceway and out the door. Her laborious clops echoed off the walls, making the room seem empty without her revered presence and her sharp blue eyes that weren't Vieve's.

If Genevieve's was a whorehouse, why did she refer to it as a Theatre? The rich clothes and careful etiquette that accompanied his visitor were out of sorts with the kind of whorehouses he knew of. But then again, Genevieve's targeted only the rich of the rich, the wealthiest of the wealthy. Perhaps the privileges that went with money were numerous, even amongst whores.

Confident that he had done what was required of him for now, all he had to do was wait for the call. With his heart satisfied for the time being, Lorenzo could focus more on the task Ezio set for him.


	41. Part 3 - Chapter 6

Another Genevieve came for him two weeks and so many turns across his sitting room later. The Incan knife man watched him incessantly, judging with his peerless eyes.

This Genevieve was shorter and had blonde locks of curly hair. She wore a full mask but this one was a lot less grave. She was full of grace and ettiquette, like the first one, and also declared that her name was Genevieve upon arriving at his rooms. This one wore gold and cream with the same elaborate styling as the first.

"Signor Zanetti," she loudly said in the hallway of his rooms, "We are delighted to have you join us. Please. There is a coach waiting to whisk you away to Genevieve's Theatre." She sounded genuinely pleased though it was difficult to understand exactly which emotion was being conveyed.

Lorenzo nodded and offered his arm to her, with a respectful bow. She responded with a curtsey and accepted. Together, they walked outside and down into the Lobby.

The carriage was jet black with well-matched black horses and a driver, dressed in black. Lorenzo handed blonde Genevieve inside before climbing in himself and seating himself across from her. The blinds were drawn over the windows so he couldn't see out.

"The location is secret, even from respected guests such as yourself, Signor Zanetti. Please, do not be alarmed," she reassured him, "We will be there shortly and we will return you home safely."

"Thank you, Genevieve. I appreciate your coming personally to escort me. Have you had a nice day?" The quick look that she gave him suggested that she hadn't expected him to make small talk.

"Yes, I have, thank you. And yourself?"

"Yes but this is by far the most exciting thing that has happened in a little while."

"I am glad to hear it, Signor Zanetti."

Geneveive was correct – they weren't long in the carriage before they were slowing to a stop. They can't have gone far. But then, even if they had driven around in a circle a few times, Lorenzo wouldn't have known. Perhaps Geneveive's Theatre circulated through properties in Venice. But there was not much space here, prices were at a premium and so many prying eyes! How would anyone keep an operation like Genevieve's secret for so long?

Lorenzo opened the door to a part of the city that he hadn't seen before – however, it did look like the area his own rooms were situated. This was the effect of the city, everywhere you went it looked the same. No wonder people got lost easily.

He helped blonde Genevieve out and was ushered into the building directly in front of him. They passed through a couple of hallways and then came to a woman standing on a raised platform. She wore a gown similar to but subtly different to blonde Genevieve's. Peering down at Lorenzo, she nodded blonde Genevieve away.

"Signor Zanetti," said the tall woman without any introduction. She curtseyed but didn't wait for him to speak, "The rules here are simple, Signor," she said directly, "You are permitted to speak with anyone inside the establishment but please be respectful. You _must_ remain seated while the show is on. Everything you could possible want will be brought to your table – please ask Genevieve for anything you desire."

"I understand."

"Thank you, Signor. Genevieve will take you to your table," and with a sweeping hand, another Genevieve appeared. This one wore much less clothing than the Genevieve's he had encountered so far.

This woman's clothes were simpler, though still long. Her neckline plunged down her breasts, pushing up her cleavage and her sleeve fell off her shoulder. She didn't notice as she approached with her half-masked face and a wicked smile upon lushes red painted lips. She was also tall, her hair fell freely to her shoulders and her hands were glove free, revealing red painted fingertips. Red Genevieve curtseyed to him and reached out a hand. Enraptured, Lorenzo took it and allowed himself to be led through the heavy red curtain.

The next room felt enormous. There was space overhead and in front of him though he couldn't see it because there were only candles lit on the various tables dotted around the room. Everywhere he looked, men sat in their booths, and women dressed as Genevieve moving about. No part of this was a whorehouse. There were murmurs and laughter and glasses chinking.

Red Genevieve brought him to his table and scampered off to find some drinks. Her dress swayed attractively as she retreated from his table.

Lorenzo settled into his seat, facing the stage and smiled thankfully when she returned with his drink.

"The show will start soon. Once all the guests have arrived," she told him with glittering eyes.

"Genevieve," Lorenzo said to the woman next to him, "I don't know how many times you've heard this, but I would like to meet the real Genevieve."

"Uh," she said unsurely, "That's not what we do here, Signor." Lorenzo wondered what she meant for a second, then cringed inwardly.

"No, that's not what I meant," Lorenzo back tracked, shaking his head at his poor choice of words, "I would like to meet the woman who organises all of this." Red Genevieve fixed him with a hurt look.

"Please, if you are unhappy with my company, then I can find another..."

"No, it's not you. Please stay," he told her, "Is there something that I can offer Genevieve to guarantee protection of her identity?"

"I'm sorry I don't understand."

"Isn't there a woman who organises this Theatre? Isn't her name Genevieve?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you are talking about." Lorenzo stared at her. He believed her. She had no idea.

"Please, can I speak with whoever hired you?"

"Am I in trouble?" she asked fearfully.

"No, no," he reassured, "I promise I won't get you into trouble. If there is someone here overseeing tonight, may I please speak with them?" She nodded a little warily and flounced away through the sea of tables yet again.

He was made to wait. A different Genevieve returned with a confident countenance. She was also masked and wearing the same costume that red Genevieve was wearing. Confident Genevieve looked him up and down unashamedly. She didn't introduce herself and she didn't curtsey betraying her maturity. Sliding herself into the booth she invaded his personal space and peered into his face as though she was looking into his soul.

"Signor, if your Genevieve has said anything untoward, I apologise..."

"No," he cut her off firmly, "I have been asking questions that she doesn't know the answer to."

"And what question is that?"

"Who is Genevieve, the woman who organises the Theatre?"

The woman paused, then pity filled her face.

"Oh Signor, it is just a name. Just a ruse. It adds to the atmosphere and protects the girls. There isn't anyone called Genevieve here," she squeezed his arm, "Please, relax, I'll send some more wine over." She waved over to someone across the room. Lorenzo's heart sank. Had the merchant lied or were the women lying?

He drank some more, sitting in quiet contemplation, wondering what he was supposed to do now. Confident Genevieve had left and Red Genevieve returned. She sat awkwardly now, unsure what to say to him and unsure on what to do next. This Genevieve was young and naïve. She eyed the people around her, trying to get clues about what she should be doing and fetching him drinks as he pleased. By then, Lorenzo had formulated a plan and acted it out.

She came back a third time at his request and he stood to meet her, allowing her to put the drink down first. Angrily, he grabbed her by the wrist and he growled at her, "I said I wanted _sangiovese_ not _trebbiano_ you uncultured couth! Don't you know what it is you are doing!" She shrieked and tried to pull away but he held fast.

"Signor, _mi dispiace!"_ she cried.

"You think you are a high-class woman just because you dress like that!?" he continued, shaking her and stepped to pull her to him with a vicious hand gripping her jaw. Her eyes were wide in the slits of the mask and she clawed at his arms, "Your mask means nothing. It cannot hide your _figura di merda._ You must be ugly underneath to have to wear it..." by now, guards were tearing across the room toward them, Lorenzo pushed Red Genevieve to the ground and stood over her, still yelling insults at her and raised a hand to slap her, "...I'll show you what we do with trash like you..." she screamed as the guards caught him and dragged him off. Lorenzo hurled insults at them too and struggled against their hold. Acting as drunk as he possibly could. They waded through the sea of tables, everything stopped to watch the commotion. Eyes follow them as they crossed the room and disappeared through some doors that closed resolutely behind them.

Through a couple of other rooms and he was promptly held between two men to receive a good beating. They knocked him out cold.


	42. Part 3 - Chapter 7

When Lorenzo came to, he was sitting upright and his neck was sore. As though he'd been propped upright with no head support for a few days. He hadn't taken a beating in a while. This one was a good one. His lip hurt and his tongue was swollen in his mouth. He must've bitten it at some point.

He couldn't move his arms to effectuate a more thorough examination. His legs were also tied securely. Nor could he remove the hessian bag that had been placed over his head or the gag that chafed his mouth. His world had been reduced to the blackness inside the bag. With no way to tell how much time had passed or where he was, he waited with the silence of the room.

In retrospect, he probably could have approached this situation from a different angle. He was an Assassin after all. Why hadn't he considered other avenues? Options abound if one knew where to look.

So far, his brazen actions – he had chosen violent actions as opposed to sexually aggressive actions purposefully - the guards and the chair all lined up with the merchant, Gallo's, far-reaching story. If it continued to do so, then a woman would arrive, take the bag off Lorenzo's head and proceed to cut off one of his fingers.

If the woman's face wasn't Genevieve, he would lose his finger for nothing.

This was probably the stupidest thing he had ever done. Lorenzo attempted to pull on the ropes that bound him. They were tight.

A door opened somewhere and a row of candles were lit. This low light created a silhouette of shadows on the inside of Lorenzo's hessian bag. There were two sets of footsteps and two figures in his limited vision. He resisted the urge to speak with them and held his breath. Praying. Praying. Praying.

The two figures didn't speak as they rattled some heavy metal items. They were trying to scare him. He noticed his heart rate rise a little and forced himself to breathe normally.

They came to stand in front of him. It seemed an eternity before one of them slowly walked around him, sliding the bag off his head.

Red Genevieve stood before him with a decided frown on her lips. Her arms were crossed and she glared down at him from behind her mask.

"Yes, this is him," she confirmed. Her eyes flickered from Lorenzo to the third person in the room, up behind him, "He grabbed me and pushed me to the ground. He was going to hit me. He said very hurtful things."

The figure behind his chair, slowly walked to the other side of him and came into view.

She wore grey leather pants and a fitted long sleeve waistcoat the same colour. Her shoulder length brown hair was pulled into a loose braid and hung down her back.

"Signor Zanetti," she said, imperiously, "Your actions have been less than gentlemanly."

He didn't move, waiting for her to round behind Red Genevieve's back. The woman looked at him as she did. She wore a half-mask, the colour of wolf's fur. Smokey grey. Fiery eyes glared at him as she peered over Red Genevieve's shoulder. Her face showed a loathing directed at Lorenzo.

"Do you think it's appropriate to hit women?"

He was scared. But he poked the beast by shrugging in answer to her.

And instantly regretted it.

The woman in the smokey mask strode forward in two large steps and backhanded him across the face. Hard. A surprised gasp escaped him involuntarily. His face could look worse than it felt from the beating he had taken. Was he still recognisably Lorenzo Sinacore?

"You think this is funny, Zanetti!?" she growled at him, shoving her displeased face into his.

He drew a breath through his nose and shook his head, daring to look at her. Praying with his eyes that if she was Genevieve, that she would recognise him. But she was moving away again.

"You won't be quite so smug when I'm done," she hissed over her shoulder as she turned her back on him.

Presently, she faced Red Genevieve. "Genevieve," she said gently holding out a hand to the younger woman with wide fascinated eyes, who took it trustingly, "I appreciate the work you do and hope that this horrific pig doesn't dissuade you from continuing." The younger Genevieve gazed into her face with reverence and shook her head mutely. "I promise you, by the time this man leaves this room, he will have learnt the valuable lesson of respect. Especially towards women." Red Genevieve nodded solemnly. As the smokey masked woman turned back to Lorenzo, she expressed dignified determination as she glowered at him.

Lorenzo watched her approach him again. Fear rose in his belly as she passed him, out of his vision again. What had he gotten himself into? What a stupid plan! What would he do now? He stared urgently at Red Genevieve. But the younger woman had drawn confidence from her counterpart and was now glaring at him with the same vehemence. There would be no sympathy from her.

The woman clad in grey returned with a large pair of spring scissors. The shear blades smiled at Lorenzo from side on, wielded with purpose. Fear finally rose from the pit of his stomach and bubbled up his chest.

"Are you going to stay and watch, Genevieve?" she asked the younger woman as she slowly slid a hand down Lorenzo's arm. Her touch was warm and strong. He didn't notice how much he had been sweating until her fingers pressed his shirt to his skin. He struggled against the hand. Yelling muffled words that even he couldn't understand and cursing the gag in his mouth, he struggled to make them understand why he had treated Genevieve so badly and what he was attempting to achieve.

The shear blades descended on his right index finger.

"Will it be gory?" asked Red Genevieve in fascination.

The shear blades paused.

"I'm about to cut the man's finger off. What do you think?" the woman replied shortly. Red Genevieve nodded gravely.

The spring scissors descended again. Lorenzo desperately struggled more. Sucking in breaths through his nose and cringing away from the blades as far as his ties allowed him, screeching through his gag.

Red Genevieve's righteous expression faded as she turned white and her realisation of what was about to happen hit home.

"I might go, then," said Red Genevieve suddenly, picking up her skirt and backing away with horror.

The shear blades paused.

"Of course, ask the guards to escort you home. They are not to wait for me," the woman with the shears replied, straightening to watch Red Genevieve curtsey quickly, nearly tripping over herself and rush from the room.

Lorenzo stopped struggling. He watched the red woman retreat, thankful for a few more seconds with his beloved index finger.


	43. Part 3 - Chapter 8

As soon as the door closed behind the retreating woman, the woman with the threatening shears put them down and unmasked herself.

Vieve's face looked into his with a surprise that echoed his own.

"Sinacore! Why didn't you use your real name?" she admonished him quietly, looking at him with concerned eyes. Her fingers were hurriedly untying one of his hands. Lorenzo sighed with relief, "More to the point, why didn't I think that you'd use an alias?" One arm free and he removed his gag.

"You are terrifying," he told her. These weren't the words he had imagined himself saying to her if he ever saw her again. They were truth though.

"I'm sorry," she replied, as she untied his other hand and started on his leg, "It had to appear real. I have a reputation to uphold."

"Tell me," Lorenzo said, his calm returning with the disappearance of the threat, "What do you do with all the fingers?"

Genevieve gave him a tight smile, "I thread them onto a necklace and I wear it while I sleep." She left him to his task and walked to the table that had an array of tools. "There's not as many as you think." Lorenzo stood to stretch out his muscles. Vieve came back to him, a grimace on her face as she drew near, and held a cloth up.

"They did a good job on you," she whispered as the cold, wet cloth burned his face. He barely noticed. Genevieve was standing in front of him, he couldn't take his eyes from her and there was only one thing on his mind.

Capturing her hand against his face, he stepped to her and drew her by the hip into a hungry kiss. Her gasp turned into an involuntary moan and he pulled her against him. Virtually melting into his arms, he felt her countering him, spurring him on. He'd imagined it so many times in his head, it seemed the most natural thing to do.

Until she pulled away, pushing against his arms, saying, "Wait, wait, wait..." Breathlessly, he let her go. His heart raced and his face stung as he waited for her to look up at him again. Waiting for her to acknowledge him with her eyes. But she didn't. She turned away, leaving the wet, cloth in his hands and went back to her bench.

Lorenzo admonished himself silently for such forward actions. Silently kicked himself. He held the cloth to his face, noting that the skin on the left side was broken. A simple backhand didn't usually hurt like this.

"Are you married?" he asked.

"What?" she asked, turning to him with a confused expression. The candlelight flickered off her tanned skin.

"There's a ring on your left hand," he observed simply, steeling his heart quickly back into it's cage, "Are you married?" Genevieve blinked incomprehensively for a second before she looked down at her left hand. The ring was a simple ruby set onto a gold band. Not an overly expensive item but not something Lorenzo ever imagined Genevieve would wear.

"Oh. It keeps men from... chasing me," she replied softly. She was quietly different to the last time he saw her. There was a gap between them that Lorenzo sensed as he considered her now. He didn't believe it was a bridge he couldn't span but he wanted to know how he could get across. He'd made his peace with losing her once. He didn't want to ever have to do it again.

"A defensive strategy," Lorenzo confirmed. Genevieve met his eyes and flashed a brief smile.

"It doesn't seem to have worked," she joked lightly. Lorenzo couldn't help but return her smile. A short awkward silence followed her words. She suddenly moved quickly to pick up her shears.

"I'm sorry, Vieve. I thought you died..."

"We can't talk here," Vieve interrupted distractedly, "You must go. I'm expected elsewhere shortly. How do I contact you?"

"You're expected elsewhere? Has morning come?"

"It will, soon," she shouldered a bag and motioned for him to walk with her, "How do I contact you?"

"Vieve, isn't there time...?"

"No, there isn't," she cut him off as they reached the door that Red Genevieve had disappeared through. Her eyes finally looked at him and she told him sharply, "Stop ignoring my question and tell me where to find you or I'll change my mind about taking your finger."

Lorenzo forgot that Genevieve could've been allies with Fiero. She was alive and if there wasn't time for them now then he would give them every opportunity to make time later. So he gave her Ezio's address.

"I'll take you there," she nodded, "Stay close." With that, she pushed the door open and let the world in.

The sun had yet to make an appearance in the city, cloaking it in predawn twilight. Genevieve turned left and kept close to the buildings as she walked purposefully. Lorenzo followed, having not been through this neighbourhood before. Instinctively, his ears listened for every sound, listening for any signs of trouble. His eyes, however, were glued to the very much alive woman who had haunted him for what seemed forever. While she walked confidently, she was also careful – slowing at intersections to check before crossing. He admired her slender figure and couldn't believe that his hunch had been right. There were many questions he wanted to ask. So much to talk about since the last time he had seen her. Thousands of things he wanted to say.

He would wait. He would wait for her.

Genevieve leaned in to a wall and peered around the corner. She snapped her head back and flung out a hand, catching Lorenzo urgently in the chest. "Borgia guards!" she hissed and motioned for him to back track. They found a low wall to hide behind and ducked down.

Motionless, Lorenzo could finally smell his own scent. He stank of alcohol and sweat. No wonder Genevieve had pulled away when she did. He looked over to her, next to him. Barely breathing. Eyes glinting in the moonlight and they found his. She grinned, her teeth white in the darkness. This was not new to her. He couldn't help but smile back at the attractive woman.

The guards found the corner but didn't turn down their street. Instead, their footsteps faded away in the opposite direction. Vieve peeked out from behind the wall. She leaned over to Lorenzo's ear, a firm hand on his shoulder kept him steady. Her hand told him she knew what she was doing. Her proximity triggered a tingling sensation where she touched him. He tried to ignore it.

"They're heading right where we want to go," she breathed into his ear, "It will take us forever to reach the Inn if we follow them at ground level. How are your climbing skills?"

After a short argument over who would go first, Lorenzo could not say that he was altogether unhappy about climbing after Genevieve. She was distracting though. He tried to think of something else as he pulled himself up the sheer building directly in her wake.

The light dawned on them as they reached the roof. The space up there in contrast to the suffocating streets lined with buildings was breathtaking. Rooftops spread out away from them in all directions, dotted with oasises of gardens here and there. The black-turning-purple sky stretched above them forever, stars giving way to the day. Lorenzo felt an age had passed since he'd seen the expanse of freedom. He instantly relaxed in the dawning air, feeling liberated.

But there was no time to enjoy the moment. The sea breeze whipped them onwards as Lorenzo continued to follow Vieve. She set off at a startling pace, running to jump the gap between buildings effortlessly.

Lorenzo considered the ease with which she traversed the canopy jungle of Venice. She obviously had a mental map of the rooftops that overlaid the mental map she had at ground level.

"Where do you need to be at such an early hour?" Lorenzo asked when they stopped for Vieve to gauge their direction.

"Church," she replied distractedly, "Where else is one compelled to go on a Sunday?"

"I thought your faith disintegrated."

"It has."

A little further on, she stopped and peered over the ledge. Fear for her unreasonably leapt into Lorenzo's throat and he reached out a hand for her.

"Here," she announced, turning to him and giving his hand a strange look, "I suggest you climb down to street level and enter from the front. It would seem less conspicuous."

A short silence echoed between the pair as they stood gazing at each other.

"Sinacore, I have no words for how relieved I am to see you," she told him, honestly. Her smile had disappeared and was replaced with an inscrutable expression as she studied his face. Irrationally, he wished she wouldn't call him that and was about to say so but she took her leave. "When I have a gap in my schedule, I'll come. We'll talk more then," Vieve told him as the sun crested and rose at an alarming rate. As she left, he had a rash desire to ask her for one more kiss but felt it inappropriate at this time. This resulted in silently watching her leave without another word.

She toured across the rooftops and vanished down to reach street level using a different alleyway. Leaving Lorenzo with all of his questions, statements, hopes and desires.


	44. Part 3 - Chapter 9

Ezio paced the hallway when Lorenzo returned after being out for the day. Weeks had passed since the night Lorenzo found Genevieve and enough time sailed by for him to settle into his refound hopeful existence.

"Ezio? What's wrong?" Lorenzo asked, sensing something was out of sorts. The man faced him with a decided frown, his eyes cloaked with furrowed brows.

"That woman I was telling you about. The one with the curator. The Templar. She's here."

"What? How?"

"She came in through the window," Ezio continued, giving Lorenzo a strange look.

"Through the window?"

"She asked for _you_ by name."

"For me?" Surprise took Lorenzo's capacity to say anything other than to parrot pointless questions.

"Lorenzo, is there something you want to tell me?" Ezio was angry. He glared at Lorenzo with sharp eyes. Feeling foolish, Lorenzo readied himself for an argument.

"I don't know the woman you speak of," he replied tightly, and Ezio threw his hands up in despair, "I don't know this person!" Lorenzo insisted.

"She called you Sinacore! How does she know your name and how does she know to come here to find you!?" And it all came together in his mind. Was it Genevieve?

"May I see her?" he asked slowly.

"Be my guest," Ezio coldly replied and stood aside, "She's in the Dining Room." Lorenzo warily eyed his hostile friend. His footsteps echoed, with Ezio in tow, through the entrance way and into the sitting room.

The sitting room was not the neat and tidy space that Lorenzo had left this morning. The low table was smashed and splintered, an upturned couch stood on its soft cushions instead of its wooden legs and quills, papers and ink lay strewn across the floor near the desk. Lorenzo cast an astonished look back at Ezio. Ezio simply glared back before Lorenzo went into the dining room.

Genevieve was sitting underneath the window, dressed in dark grey leather, hair braided down her back in a dishevelled state. She lifted her head and her brown eyes lit up when she saw him. Vieve was sporting a purple bruise on one cheek and a split lip. Seeing her like this did not shock Lorenzo, he had seen her beaten many times. She was gagged and tied to a chair. Three weeks passed since they had last saw each other. Lorenzo laughed to himself, setting aside the fact that Ezio thought she was a Templar. Lorenzo removed her bloodied gag and crouched next to her.

"Sinacore," she acknowledged him with a small smile.

"This is a dramatic turn of events," he mirthfully told her.

"The irony of my current situation is not lost on me," she replied calmly, with a 'ha' and a wry smile, despite her cosmetic injuries. Ezio observed the two and stood stoically sentinel. Their light banter was not helping the fact that he thought she was a Templar.

"This is Genevieve," Lorenzo told Ezio. Ezio's confused expression forced Lorenzo to continue, "I'll explain how I found her later. It's a long story." Lorenzo moved to untie her arms from behind the chair.

"Leave me tied up." "Leave her tied up."

Both Genevieve and Ezio spoke at the same time. Lorenzo hesitated because Genevieve said it.

"Why?" he asked her.

"Your friend is a little jumpy," Vieve replied indicating to Ezio with her chin. Her injuries were probably the result of a fight with Ezio. Lorenzo glanced over at Ezio who was clearly annoyed at this remark.

"I'm cautious, not jumpy," he snapped, "And only people with hidden motives enter through the window," Ezio mused.

"So only Assassins are allowed to do it?" Vieve pinned him pointedly.

A small win went to Genevieve. Ezio fumed silently but asked through gritted teeth. "Why don't you tell us why you're here?" Lorenzo pulled up a chair and sat down half way between her and Ezio.

"Something unexpected has come up. There's going to be an execution tomorrow, in the piazza. I need help to stop it."

"What makes you think we'll help you?" Ezio asked.

"I'm not asking you to do it for nothing. I've been working on an opportunity for you to get closer to the Templars."

"How do you know what we are after?" Ezio questioned her.

"I don't know," Genevieve appraised him with an interested look, "You're an Assassin. They are Templars. Any information is good information."

"Why does preventing this execution mean so much to you?"

"It can't happen. That's the bottom line. Please tell me that you'll help me."

"You're hardly in a position to be making demands or withholding information, Genevieve," Ezio reminded her. Lorenzo was grateful that Ezio was willing to listen to Veive. It was a good sign that he felt that consorting with her was a smart option. She nodded and looked away, considering her position.

"He's a scribe. I've been paying him to keep me informed."

"Your Templar fiancé, Gasparo, doesn't tell you everything?" Ezio snorted, sarcastically.

Lorenzo was grateful his back was to Ezio. Shock stiffened him in his seat and he stared at Genevieve in disbelief. His heart drained of blood. She kept negotiating with Ezio as though she didn't notice the incredulousness in Lorenzo's face.

"It would seem not but I've learned not to put all my eggs in one basket," she replied. Genevieve's dark eyes flickered to Lorenzo briefly, but she spared no explanation for him. He fumed in his seat. She _was_ engaged!

"I'm guessing that it's your fault that the scribe is in this position."

"I'm not willing to let him die on any account. He's a good man," here Genevieve went quiet, meeting Ezio's hard gaze with her own calm confidence. Lorenzo was still stuck on the fact that she was engaged. The tumult of emotions spinning inside him nearly floored him.

"What is he accused of?"

"He was good with covering his tracks but the Templars still suspected him, even with no evidence. They've accused him of homosexuality. They don't need evidence to convict him for that."

"Why can't you rescue him?" Lorenzo asked, "You've put him in danger, it's your responsibility."

"I would if I could Sinacore. I would do anything but my position with the Templar's is delicate in it's infancy. It's only by Gasparo's grace that the Templars' suspicions of me haven't been acted upon. If I expose myself then I won't be useful to you at all."

"How are to we trust you?"

"If I wanted to gain favour with the Templars, I would've given you away by now," she snapped, "As I see it, I've already assumed your trust."

"And if we refuse to help you?"

Genevieve didn't reply.

"Tell us about the opportunity you're offering," Ezio powered on. Lorenzo wished he would stop. Wished they could go back to the moment he found out she was engaged so he could question her about that. Vexed, he shifted in his seat and scowled at Genevieve.

She didn't notice. Or she didn't care.

"My fiancé, Luca Gasparo..." she started slowly, "...is the curator of an Art Gallery here in Venice. He also organises Cavazza's - the underground auctions. Proceeds of the auctions directly fund Templar activities. But in order to move products he needs cooperation. So he's opening a new exhibition directly for merchants in the district. A number of them are invited and make up the pool from which Gasparo will select preferred contacts for a secret meeting during the exhibition.

Given my connection with Gasparo I can get you into the exhibition. Perhaps you can eavesdrop on certain merchants or follow them and find out the extent of his reach."

Ezio and Lorenzo shared another look.

"Why do you want to help us?" Lorenzo asked not unkindly.

"Isn't it obvious Sinacore?" she asked him, a little confused, "I want my future back! I want my Apprenticeship with the Brotherhood. I want to be an Assassin. I earned it and it was ripped from my hands!"

Still fuming at the prospect of Genevieve being married to someone else, Lorenzo started when Ezio tapped him on the shoulder and motioned them to move out of the room to speak privately. Lorenzo tried to plaster a neutral expression on his face as Ezio turned to face him. He waited. This was Ezio's mission and he would make the decisions on their direction.

"I need an explanation," Ezio demanded. Lorenzo told him the bare bones of how he had discovered Genevieve was alive. He told Ezio about Gallo's story, about Genevieve's Theatre and how he discovered that Genevieve was alive again. Lorenzo knew exactly what it sounded like.

It sounded like Genevieve was a Templar.

And she lied to him about the ring but Lorenzo withheld that.

Ezio shook his head in disbelief while he explained.

"You've jeopardised my position here," he stabbed an accusing finger at Lonenzo. And righteously so. But something inside Lorenzo dug its heels in, deep. He pressed a hand to his forehead and looked around the chaotic sitting room, that reflected the chaos inside his mind. While the Assassin in Lorenzo cautioned himself against aligning with Genevieve, he surprised his better judgement when he heard himself speak.

"I believe her. She's not a Templar." He wanted to spin an incredulous look to the person who said it. But he couldn't.

"No!? I've seen her among them! Rolling around in her finery and wealthy friends. Tell me, how is she not a Templar?" Ezio asked. There was no disputing what Ezio had seen. Lorenzo couldn't win this argument.

"Ezio. Can we afford not to have her help?" Ezio huffed and stalked away from him, "You've been here for a long while, trying to understand why the Templars are here and what the significance of the Tokens are. With limited results. Perhaps having someone on the inside will help?"

Ezio glared at Lorenzo, "We can't control her. That's what I don't like about this situation. She has free reign and can pick and choose who she helps. Are you in love with her?"

"What? No!" Lorenzo countered immediately. He wasn't sure why.

"She was very familiar with you when you first came in," Ezio observed.

"She worked hard, was a good novice and she did win her Apprenticeship. But nothing else. Tell me Ezio, do we have choice other than to trust her?" Lorenzo spun the conversation back to the matter at hand. The decision hung heavy in the air as the two men gazed at each other.

Ezio relented with a curt nod.

They went back into the dining room. To their surprise, Genevieve was standing up and admiring the landscape painting on the wall. The binds that tied her to the chair lay discarded on the floor. She smirked smugly when she turned to them, knowing they masked their surprise, and waited patiently for them to speak.

"What's your plan for tomorrow?" Ezio asked through gritted teeth. She motioned to the table. On it was a large piece of parchment, unfolded to reveal a map. Lorenzo cast his eyes over it. It was comprehensive and detailed. The organised part of his brain sighed in satisfaction. He then set himself to the task of focusing on her ideas.


	45. Part 3 - Chapter 10

The atmosphere in the piazza was palpable. Anger vibrated from the front spectators all the way to the back. They had brought all kinds of horrible things to throw at the offenders sentenced to die that day, mostly consisting of rotten food.

They wanted to see someone else suffer.

Humans were mercilessly unforgiving against others who didn't conform to their own ideologies. This kind of public execution provided relief for the commoners. Saving the bloodthirsty mass appeared counterproductive. But Lorenzo reminded himself about the bigger picture. A world of free-thinking people must be maintained. The alternative was unfathomable.

The accused hadn't been brought out yet. Lorenzo surveyed the crowd from his position, blended in with the spectators to one side. He was jostled and deafened by them. They screamed, begging for death of the homosexual. It did not matter to them that two thieves who stole their money and their livelihoods directly were the other accused. The homosexual was the worst of the three. No wonder they were effective at keeping their affairs private.

Lorenzo pushed these thoughts aside; what homosexuals did was no matter to him. Besides, this one was not guilty of his crime. He noted the Borgia guards patrolling the perimeter. They were few. Low profile executions didn't attract a lot of attention and the simmering crowd would be allowed to boil over as much as they wished as long as it was contained within the piazza. Lorenzo's main concern was the general public this time. One of the Brotherhood's tenents was not to harm innocent people. This was difficult when they were the ones picking the fights.

He waited for it to begin.

The crowd screamed as the three offenders were dragged by their shackles onto the elevated stage. They appeared dirty and bedraggled. The first two hung their heads as though already swinging from the gallows. The third eyed the crowd with frightened and confused eyes, blinking in the midday sun. He was short and wore a scribe's long brown robe. They lined up in a row. The crowd roared for their imminent deaths.

Without addressing the spectators, the executioner reverently stood with each accused, tightening the noose slowly around their necks. The fear emitting from the scribe shook him from head to toe. He wagged his head in denial, mouth moving rapidly but Lorenzo couldn't hear what he was saying. The executioner did not respond to the condemned man either. He shifted to the lever that would resign them to the rest of their short lives.

Lorenzo began to move forward. Pushing people gently but firmly out of the way. This was happening too swiftly.

Up on the stage with the convicted offenders and the executioner were four Templar guards, stationed at each corner. Expressionless and stoic, they eyed the crowd, looking for perpetrators who might hinder the righteous path of justice. They didn't see Lorenzo.

Neither did they see where the arrow that caught the executioner in the neck came from. The four Borgia guards looked around confused as the body hit the stage and drew their swords. The spectators drew a collective breath and resumed screaming out for their justice. Lorenzo moved forward quicker and pulled himself to the stage.

"There!" one of the Templar guards cried, pointing at Lorenzo.

 _Ezio better be close,_ he thought, as another arrow took down his nearest advancing opponent. He watched, as though in slow motion as the arrow impacted the guard's shoulder, throwing him forward off balance, and it pointed it's deadly head through his chest. This cleared the way for Lorenzo briefly, directly to the scribe, who's frightened eyes went wide.

The remaining three guards advanced on Lorenzo. One was felled with another arrow, leaving the last two for his own blade. He parried and blocked with his short sword as they both attacked at the same time. Making short work of them, they landed resolutely on the decking, gushing blood like a flooded brook.

Lorenzo looked to the scribe again, whose relieved eyes begged him to be quicker, and was just about to cut the noose when an arrow did that for him. _Show off,_ he thought as he cut the ties around the scribes hands behind his back.

"Thank you!" the scribe sighed, relieved.

"Stay close to me," he told him, looking out past the crowd. _Where was Ezio!?_ The thieves yelled out to Lorenzo, begging for deliverance but he ignored them. There was only space for one.

By now the masses were pulsing with fury. Screeching for the justice that they were owed and reaching for the stage to clamber up and confront them. Borgia guards around the perimeter were blocked by the mass and couldn't get to the stage to apprehend the scribe or the Assassin.

As some spectators attempted to haul themselves up to their level, Lorenzo stomped on their hands to stop them getting any purchase and knocked them backwards, into the teeming mass. The scribe stood back in frozen terror.

Ezio finally made an appearance. He rode a horse from the back of the piazza and around the crowd. Hooves clattered on the stones in the piazza and took down any Templars that got in his way. It felt an eternity before he turned the horse around along the back of the stage.

"What now?" asked the scribe, backing away.

Lorenzo pushed the scribe roughly to the rear of the stage and told him, "You're going to jump onto the horse."

"What!?"

And as Ezio rode past, he grabbed the scribe and pulled him onto the saddle behind him. Lorenzo wasn't going to watch them ride off into the sunset. He jumped from the stage and ran in the opposite direction. The crowd was after him and he focused on the task of escaping. All he needed to do was outstrip the nearest chaser and hide. Easy.


	46. Part 3 - Chapter 11

Ezio returned a few days later, after whisking the scribe to a location that Genevieve had arranged on the mainland. He found Lorenzo in the sitting room, now tidied and with new furniture. He strode into the room and looked around.

"Thanks for redecorating," he said, "Genevieve took quite a beating before she surrendered." Lorenzo made no response. "The rescue went well," Ezio continued, sitting across from Lorenzo.

"It was a simple mission with a simple solution," he replied shortly, without looking up from the book he was reading.

He was unable to get past the fact that Genevieve lied to him about her ring. Unfathomable. After everything he did for her.

She didn't visit afterwards, rendering her and less in Lorenzo's favour, but she did send them their invitations to the Gala opening. And some maps, with brief instructions, that Lorenzo and Ezio poured over.

On the respective night, both Ezio and Lorenzo dressed in the appropriate attire, grabbed their invitations and walked to San Marco. It was a masked event and Genevieve had provided them with masks.

"So she knows what we look like," Lorenzo mused, unimpressed. He hoped against everything that Genevieve was not setting them up in a trap. But she lied to him. How was he meant to trust everything she said?

The gates they walked into was well lit with a driveway lined with small trees. However, most attendees walked, of which a majority were men.

This particular gallery, as there were a couple in Venice, was a tall spacious building in the heart of San Marco. It stood apart from, and was a dwarfed by, the grand buildings next to it.

The Gallery opened into a room that had a table laden with all sorts of food. People milled about in this room talking and laughing with each other.

"Let's split up," Ezio suggested, "I'll try find an alternative entrance to this secret meeting. You gain direct access." Lorenzo nodded. Ezio peeled away, weaving in and out of the clichés seamlessly. Lorenzo soon lost sight of him.

Left to his own devices, he wandered over to the table of food and picked at some nibblies. His appetite was not high. He had been preoccupied these last few days, sick with himself and how foolishly he had reacted to finding Genevieve again. Stupid!

She pulled away when he kissed her. She deliberately lied to him. She only wanted to be an Assassin.

That was it. Her future had nothing to do with him. But she hadn't said so herself. He needed to hear it from her.

In an attempt to reorientate his thoughts, he looked around the room – like so many of these gatherings that he looked around in the past. The gowns were resplendent on the women who were in attendance, the men were dressed appropriately. The same as always when there was business to be done.

Her light grey gown caught his eye before her face did. He already knew who it would be. It was a lovely long gown, with a wide skirt, that shimmered and sighed in the light. The extra-long sleeves fell into a diamond point past her elbows, revealing shapely arms clasped in front of her. Her shoulders were covered chastely with what appeared to be red embroidered pads, diamond pointed tips accentuated her shoulder width regally. Her hair was loosely braided and threaded through with grey ribbon, highlighted against her brunette head. Genevieve walked tall, with a lifted head, gazing through her matching grey mask around the room imperiously. An expression that matched the man walking next to her.

Gasparo was a tall thin man with a pointed face and a beard. He, too, looked around the room like a royal gazing upon his kingdom. The curator critiqued his own guests and said something to Genevieve next to him. She nodded and replied. He looked at her sharply and she offered a further response. Gasparo nodded slowly, confirming something and motioned her away with a kiss to her hand.

Vieve moved from her fiancé as they reached the middle of the room. She sailed away, her dress sweeping after her, nodding briefly to those she recognised as she weaved through the gathering.

Lorenzo scowled unreasonably and turned away from her, so he wouldn't see where she went, and looked at the food again, grumpily. Of course, the attractive woman looked more attractive when dressed like a Countess, instead of a servant. That was to be expected. He firmly pushed her from his mind and turned back to the room with fresh eyes. He was meant to be socialising and gathering information.

Confidently, he plastered on an expression he hoped was serious and businesslike and approached the nearest collections of men.

"Hello, I couldn't help but overhear that you'd like to expand into Cantanzaro..." he said, introducing himself as an investor to a gentleman. The art in the Gallery was all but forgotten in the name of business.

Once he was back into the rhythm of his role, the hours passed by as he slowly made his way around the room, talking to the different merchants and their escorts. His thoughts turned to Ezio's progression as the information he received was unhelpful to their needs. He would spy Genevieve and Gasparo every now and again, deep in conversation together and sometimes apart, listening and laughing with others. Lorenzo impatiently went in search of a glass of wine.

"I think I know you," said a fetching young woman boldly, rounding on his war path. She had a porcelain face and golden hair tamed with a delicate hair net. Her light blue eyes, accentuated by her periwinkle dress, were clear and smiling at him as she dropped the hand she used to stop him. Her collarbones rose and sank with each of her breaths.

"No, I think you're mistaken. I would remember your glorious face," Lorenzo replied charmingly. She laughed as he kissed her hand and gave his alias, encouraging her to think he was someone else. In reality, she was probably one of the many women he had met over the years, wanting to marry him.

"Ilaria," she curtseyed.

"Ilaria," he repeated, liking the sound of her name. It matched her face nicely, "Which of the artworks is most impressionable in your opinion?" he asked her.

"None of them," she replied with a broad smile, "Art is too ambiguous to enjoy. I prefer more tangible pursuits."

"Such as?"

"Wine tasting," she reached for two glasses, handed one to him, and clinked her's with his, " _Salute."_

"A noble pass-time," he mused, smirking at her and taking a sip. This was a nice distraction.

"Why are you here?" she asked him.

"I'm an investor," he replied, giving her the story he had provided with other guests during the course of the afternoon, "The artwork is secondary."

They made small talk for a while, Lorenzo relaxed to the point of enjoying himself. Ilaria was a bright charismatic woman with her own preferences. She spoke like a noblewoman but was aware of others enough to be nice. She teased the clichés around them, providing gossip about some personal affairs, doing so in an amusing manner.

"... and this woman," Ilaria stopped Genevieve who was breezing past them. Genevieve turned questioning eyes toward Ilaria and Lorenzo, "This woman will have the most fascinating collection of pointless art you'll ever lay your eyes on, once she is married."

"Oh Ilaria, you lack appreciation for the finer things in life," Genevieve teased with a good-natured roll of her eyes, surrounded in smoke. Lorenzo almost forgot that he wasn't meant to know Genevieve until she held her hand up to him, expectantly.

"Lorenzo Zanetti."

"Vittoria D'Aleo," she responded with a quick curtsey.

"Your fiancé has outdone himself today," he told her pointedly.

"He enjoys socialising," she replied, "You came in with Patrizio," Ezio's alias, "It appears your friend is making good use of his time." Was he? Lorenzo hadn't spied Ezio since they walked in. Was she jealous of him standing there speaking with Ilaria?

"He only has one thing on his mind. His business. He is much like a dog drawn to a bone."

"Well, let's hope he finds what he is looking for," Vieve replied. She curtseyed again, excused herself and took her leave.

"I've never seen that woman stand still long enough to scratch herself," Ilaria commented as they watched her sweep away towards another person in the room, "They call her Chiacchierona behind her back. It's funny because anyone is hard pressed to get two words out of her. And yet she seems to speak at length with her fiancé to no end. Perhaps they are made for each other." Lorenzo's mood became melancholy once again. Not even Ilaria's sunny face could break it. He took his leave of her and spoke with a few more people before catching up with Genevieve once more. He had to speak with her.

"Signorina D'Aleo," he caught her as she was inbetween conversations.

"Si, Signore Zanetti."

"Would I be overstepping if I asked you to tour the Gallery with me?" he asked loud enough for the nearest guests to hear. He bowed in respect with his request.

"No, please," she flashed an unsure smile and took his offered arm allowing him to lead her to the edge of the room. Lorenzo had no interest in the Art but they stopped in front of the first painting, a landscape of somewhere.

"Can we talk?" he asked in a low voice.

"What? Now?" she baulked. They were far enough away from anyone to be out of earshot.

"Yes."

"We are in the middle of..."

"I don't care."

"I do. You're endangering... well everything," Vieve admonished him, "Do not be distracted, there is work to do."

"You're stuck with me until we walk around a little more. Otherwise it would be out of the ordinary," he reminded her, as they moved onto the next painting. This comment rendered her silent and she frowned as she reluctantly allowed herself to be led around.

It was uncomfortable. Awkward. But Lorenzo pushed through it. He was determined to tell her his mind. And to hear her response.

"You lied to me," he told her quietly. They were standing in front of a painting of some angels and what appeared to be God.

"It was a reflex," she replied quietly. She idly made some movement with her free hand, pointing at the sweeping arc one of the angels took flight on.

"So you tell every man who asks that the ring is for self-defence when you are in fact engaged to be married?" Lorenzo questioned, then laughed. Genevieve gave a small laugh also.

"Do you become this indignant every time you are lied to?" she asked plastering a radiant smile on her face that failed to reach her eyes. They moved on to the next painting. There was a question at the back of his mind that he knew was stupid so he left it. Now was not the time to get emotional.

"Why are you marrying him?" he asked, gesturing to the plaque next to the painting he couldn't see in front of them.

"It was necessary, I made him a promise so that he would fund Genevieve's Theatre," she replied tightly, "Which, as I remember, led you to me. So, you must thank him."

"What promise?"

"I promised him that I would double his income if he funded the Theatre," she replied, with a sigh, "But he wouldn't agree until I accepted his proposal of marriage. It was necessary and a small price to pay to ensure I was useful should an Assassin catch up with me again."

"I spent 1100 florin to find you," he said softly, "1100 florin I gave to the Templars." He shook his head.

"No one asked you to do that. I just needed your name registered as a potential buyer so that I could come to you. Of course, there was no way for you to know that. I'm sorry you spent so much money."

"So much money for seemingly nothing," he hissed under his breath and immediately regretted his words. She scowled, clenching her jaw, the veins in her temples coursed beneath her skin.

Did she even know why he had spent so much money? The questions he left unsaid, went unanswered.

"From an Assassin perspective, it looks like you're a Templar," he jabbed.

"I know. I'm not though," she shoved a finger at him, "If I can convince your friend to take me as an apprentice then I get my future back and I can quit this double life." Then as an afterthought and much softer, "Thank you for backing me up." Lorenzo believed her. There was nothing sinister about her. She was surviving, like she always had.

"And what about us?" he asked finally.

"We wouldn't work," Genevieve told him decisively, in a strong voice.

"What?"

"We wouldn't work."

"Why not?"

"Because you are Lorenzo Sinacore. Owner of Monte de Paschi," she said simply, "I tried finding you after the fire. Everyone from the castle disappeared, and I had nothing else to go on."

"You mean to say that because you found out I own a bank, we wouldn't work?" He asked, "That makes no sense." She watched him with careful eyes and he stared at her incredulously.

"Don't you see that I am beneath your station?"

"But not Gasparo's, clearly."

"That is a different matter, Sinacore. I'm trying to help the Brotherhood and resume my apprenticeship. Why can't you see that?"

"It makes no difference in my eyes," Lorenzo hissed at her, livid, "I'm done. It's as you say: we wouldn't work. If you're going to lie to me, then I can't trust you." He threw her hand from his arm and stalked away to find another glass of wine. Luckily, it appeared that no one was paying them any attention.

When he reached the table to swipe a glass up, he glanced back to see how Genevieve reacted to his outburst. She was not standing there. She disappeared. _Good,_ he thought, _I don't need her anymore._ He finally turned his thoughts back to the reason he had come and found Ezio weaving his way through the groups over to him again.

"Let's go," were the only two words the Assassin said and Lorenzo followed him out.

It could not have come as such a surprise that she was remarkably like him, he reflected. Vieve was as focused on her job as Lorenzo had been in his. Until he met her. It was possible that she had surpassed him. In exactly the same way that he'd said she would surpass Fiero.

"What's eating you?" Ezio asked as they walked.

"Nothing. Nothing," he replied. There was nothing to be said about Genevieve. He already given his approval of Genevieve's position and they were trusting her. Nothing more needed to be said. "I didn't find anything of any use."

"I did. There is to be a shipment arriving shortly. Gasparo didn't divulge any details but hinted that this was a special..." Try as Lorenzo could, he couldn't find it in his heart to listen too closely at all. He had a headache from all the wine. And his heart was angry.

"Ezio," he interrupted, "Could we please go over it all tomorrow?" Ezio gave him an impatient look but agreed.


	47. Part 3 - Chapter 12

Lorenzo awoke the next day in his room. Alone again. He slept like the dead last night but woke up feeling as though he hadn't slept at all. He decided to sleep in.

Later, he walked down the hallway and stopped in front of the ceremonial knife that he had bought with so much hope. 1100 florins. He could hardly believe himself. He picked up the glass chamber, intending to find something to do with it, and kicked open the door to the sitting room.

He found Ezio and Genevieve deep in conversation. They were referring to another map that Lorenzo suspected Genevieve had brought. They both turned to him as he entered. He stood there dumb founded for a second. Then he continued to carry the glass case inside. "Good morning," he intoned tightly.

"Good afternoon," Ezio corrected. Genevieve didn't make a reply. She looked down and away then back at him.

"Don't let me interrupt you," he dismissed them as he set the glass case down on the desk. He'd forgotten whet he wanted to do with it and wandered into the dining room hoping for something to eat instead. He was not disappointed with a plate of fruit left on the table. Figs. That's what he wanted. And he plucked a few from the plate.

Sitting down, he explored his interrupted mood. It was Genevieve. He hadn't expected to see her again so soon. From what he could see, Ezio was willing to lean his ear toward Genevieve more and more. Perhaps she was of more use to him than Lorenzo was. He admitted then that he had been horribly distracted from the job he was tasked with. He'd hardly been any use since he got there.

Now that he found Genevieve, and dismissed her from his emotions, he could get back to work and do his job properly. He resolved to go back into the sitting room, set aside his heart and join in on their conversation.

They beat him to it by joining him in the dining room.

"Lunch is ready," Ezio told him as the servants brought in their meal, he added to the servants, "Set another place for us."

"Oh, I won't stay to eat," Genevieve replied, with a dismissive wave of her hand. She must've come in through the window again. She wore her smokey grey leather, some weapons and hood.

"Nonsense, you must tell Lorenzo the plan," Ezio was determined and showed her where to sit.

From where Lorenzo sat at the head of the table, she sat to his right, Ezio to his left. The servants swiftly brought in a hearty meal of pesto, pasta and fresh bread. Genevieve stared at the food in front of her, waiting for the servants to leave and waiting for Ezio to start. They ate in silence for the first few minutes. Genevieve shovelled food into her mouth at an alarming rate.

"You eat as though you've never been fed," Ezio commented, watching her with both eyebrows raised.

"You eat as though you've never been hungry," she retorted flashing a small smile. Lorenzo was reminded of the day she turned up at the castle. She had unapologetically eaten without regard for manners or decorum then too. She must've been hungry, starved for a few days in the back of that cart. He remembered how famished and unfocused she looked and how impressed he had been with her resolve. It was incredible to see the difference in her once she ate something. She'd spoken back to him confidently with purpose in her eye. Looking at her now, the only thing that changed was her figure. Eating well meant she had filled out nicely. He pushed these thoughts from his mind.

"What plan have you concocted this time?" he asked instead. A look shared between Ezio and Genevieve confirmed that she was to respond.

"There's a shipment incoming. We need to know what's included in the shipment, we need to confirm where they are headed to as well as where they are coming from. Perhaps by knowing the destination, we can work out what they are for and cut off a branch of the Templar's funding at the same time."

They went through the plan with Lorenzo. There were a few places the shipment details would be held. The curator, Gasparo's, residence in Castello housed the offices of the Gallery as well as the families of his associates and a private Gallery. Both Ezio and Lorenzo were required to infiltrate and steal the information. This was not something Genevieve could do but she could get them into different areas of the residence from the inside. She would keep an eye out for them and attempt to redirect the guards. Lorenzo set his mind to the task and meticulously picked her plan to pieces.

After countering each of his comments with strained patience and taking a few of his suggestions on board, Genevieve sat staring across the table at Ezio's chest, chastised and silent. Lorenzo and Genevieve had been short with each other, to the point of almost being rude. Lunch had finished a little while ago. Ezio looked from one to the other, noting the changed tone in the exchange between Lorenzo and Genevieve.

"Genevieve, this is an important mission," Ezio instructed her gently, "You need to remain vigilant and carry on with your usual routines. Treat everyone as you normally would – guards, friends, Gasparo's family, servants. If you see either of us, react in the same manner as the people around you. We'll slip through and hopefully will be gone before anyone notices that anything is missing. I think it's wise to keep you in your position as long as possible so don't risk it for anything."

Genevieve nodded seriously in reply. The footman entered, announcing a letter for Ezio who attended to it immediately. Lorenzo and Genevieve gave him privacy and moved into the sitting room. Alone, together.

Vieve moved toward the ceremonial knife and inspected it with interest. While Lorenzo's dissatisfaction boiled over.

"You got your wish," Lorenzo unkindly told her. She questioned him with a look, her head tilted, eyebrows furrowed slightly. "You wanted Ezio to be your mentor. From what I could see of you both this afternoon, you have his ear. Congratulations."

"At least I'm being useful!" she spun next to the desk, speaking angrily, her face pinched with fury, "I am proactive and succeeding with some results. What have you done besides risking your tasks here in Venice, criticising my every move and lusting after me like a frustrated gelding?" She shoved the glass case of the Spanish knife and it toppled off the desk, crashing into a million pieces on the floor. The knife slid toward Lorenzo.

"If it weren't for me vouching for you, you wouldn't be useful at all! The Brotherhood would've targeted you for Assassination. You'd be dead. For now, you're just a sheep, dressed in wolf's skin," Lorenzo snapped. The ringing sound brought Ezio in from the dining room. He stood there in the doorway, looking between his friend and Genevieve, astonished.

"Whoops," was all the short, uncaring explanation she offered Ezio. Lorenzo glared at her before storming out to find solace in his room.

He didn't answer to her. Ezio was the only one who could say anything to that effect and he hadn't. Yet.

Lorenzo spent much of his time loitering in the marketplace, looking for any sign of Verdi while they waited for the night that Geneveive had instructed them to go to Gasparo's building. Evidently, Ezio had his own assignment to continue with, "A meeting between Cadenza and a Guidecca real estate agent will occur. They are meeting at a residence in Castello next week. I'm going to try and listen in."

Lorenzo nodded, noting that he was not included in this particular mission.

"Care to explain your last exchange with Genevieve?" Ezio asked as though it were another business matter he was to deal with. He waited, watching closely for Lorenzo's response.

Lorenzo kept his expression neutral, "It was nothing."

Ezio disagreed, "You're lying. I've never seen you lose your temper at a woman."

"She's not just a woman. She's a novice and would-be Assassin. It's my responsibility to make sure she knows the weight of her decisions."

"I sense a hint of disappointment from you regarding her decisions."

"She's playing a dangerous game. Marrying Gasparo. If they find out that she has been helping us, they will kill her." Even Ezio found it difficult to argue with Lorenzo's logic.

"Well," Ezio raised his hands in surrender, "She is well trained. A credit to you and herself." Loreno merely nodded. "Perhaps you should refocus on Verdi," Ezio suggested. He nodded again.

Easier said than done. Lorenzo visited the marketplace again but could not seem to find better information on Verdi. He was not a well-known merchant. People shrugged their shoulders and attempted to peddle their own wares for Lorenzo. He politely declined and hoped he didn't look too suspicious.

"Zanetti!" called a light voice to him in the piazza. Ilaria swept toward him with a wide smile on her lips. He couldn't help but beam back.

"Ilaria," he acknowledged her with a bow.

"This is a pleasant surprise."

"It's more pleasant for me, I assure you," he told her. Then he invited her to walk with him, holding his elbow out invitingly. She accepted without hesitation, waving off her handmaid hovering in the background.

"I was looking for some exotic fabrics for my handmaid to sew me a new dress," Ilaria explained, "She has a keen eye for what works and what doesn't but she is hopeless when it comes to colours. What brings you here?"

"I was looking for a shoe-shine," he lied, "I haven't seen a stall set up yet." They spent the next half an hour strolling the marketplace in search of one but, oddly enough, could not find one.

"Maybe we weren't looking properly the first time," Lorenzo coaxed Ilaria into spending more time with him. She agreed and around they went again.

"I hope you found the business partners you were looking for at the Merchant Gala," Ilaria said conversationally.

"Are you in business too?"

"No. No! Vittoria invited me out of sheer pity. I'd surely run any venture into the ground so do not take any of my advice to heart. No. My attentions are for myself only."

"And what do your attentions desire, besides fine wine?" Lorenzo asked carefully. He was getting caught up in her light-hearted mannerisms. It struck him as odd that Ilaria was carefree and unconcerned about the social structures that bound most other people of their class. To approach him in public, even in the marketplace, was bold and assuming.

"Freedom," Ilaria winked.

"Is your family from Venice?" Lorenzo dug slightly, hoping Ilaria would tell him what her background was like.

"Yes, my family is Venetian. Your's isn't, or I'd surely have heard of you before."

"We're Romans."

She eyed him with one scrutinising eye and raised an eyebrow, "You're much too soft to be Roman." He laughed at her.

"You think I'm soft?"

"I think you're not Roman."

"How can you tell? I might be from the soft side of Rome."

She laughed, "There isn't one. Rome is the abyss from which all the wrong sorts of people emerge. My husband was a Roman. And his family are not like you. But what does it matter? Everyone has their own secrets," Ilaria smiled up at him, pausing to stop in front of a rug merchant. Lorenzo noted the tense in which she spoke of her husband. She was signalling a fact to him. Ilaria was a widow.

In this day and age, it was not uncommon for ladies to outlive their husbands. What made Ilaria an exception was her youth. She could not have been older than thirty-something years.

"What happened to your husband?" Lorenzo asked quietly.

"He got sick and died," Ilaria looked him up and down, as though expecting judgement, "He was a pig. Thank God we did not have children. Surely, I would hate them for reminding me of him." Lorenzo noted the edge in her tone and decided to let the topic slide.

"How long have you known Vittoria?" he asked instead, on a whim.

"Oh not long but I am glad to know her. She is new to Venice as well. She had that look, the same look as you, when she came here."

"What look?"

"Oh, you know. That look that misses the rolling green fields and the endless sky. That's also how I know you're not Roman," she clicked her tongue and winked again, "Here in Venice, there are only Venetians and the canals that join us all together." Ilaria smiled as she paid for a pair of apples at the next tall and threw one to Lorenzo as she skimmed past him into the crowd. He floated after her, pushing people out of his way.

She idly spoke of what Venice was like to grow up in: the canals were her roads, the buildings her guideposts. It was a sheltered community.

Then she invited Lorenzo to her home, any time that he pleased. "You only need to write me a letter," she winked one last time. Maybe he would.


	48. Part 3 - Chapter 13

According to the plan, Lorenzo was to traverse the rooves in Castello, watching for Borgia guards. He peered out from behind a shaded patio and surveyed his target roof: a domed greenhouse three rooftops away.

The clear dawning sky he had first seen with Genevieve the morning she pretended to cut one of his fingers off, was currently dotted with a million stars, brilliant twinkles in the sky in the wake of a waxing moon. It was going on nine o'clock, a time when people were retiring to their beds.

A good night for a stealthy mission.

Lorenzo noted the guards milling about, their white uniforms lit up like torches in the darkness. Two sets on opposites sides of the target roof, patrolling in a circular formation. It took them 10 minutes to walk the length of one wall and start down the next. This was a slow rotation – one that did not expect much trouble. Lorenzo was not there to give them any trouble.

A window on the southern side of the roof, three floors down would land Lorenzo in and upstairs bedroom of a currently vacant floor. Genevieve promised to have it unlocked in preparation of his arrival. He needed to swing around to the adjacent wall and climb down to the window.

But first, he had to get close enough.

As the guards walked around and had their backs to him, he crept forward and lightly jumped to the next roof and the next while he was going. He then checked before jumping the third gap and landed hanging off the top. It would be sometime before the next guards walked past but he wasn't going to wait for them. Using the roof risked them seeing him. Clinging to the side of the wall, he looked down and around for some handholds and pulled himself across the wall, towards the other corner. Hand after hand, foot after foot. He reached and pulled, reached and pulled effortlessly, covering the distance to the corner.

Voices approached. He froze where he was, clinging onto a window that framed a silent room and waited for the guards to pass before continuing.

Clearing the corner was not as easy as he originally thought. A lack of handles within reach rendered it impossible and he would have to climb up to the roof to cross it. A set of guards had just passed him so he quickly climbed up to the roof, looking to the next set of guards. They had yet to reach the next corner. Lorenzo wore black in any case and they would not spot him immediately. Climbing up and around to the next wall went well and he located the window before too long.

It was unlocked and he swung himself into a dark room. He closed the window again and immediately moved toward the door, recalling in his mind the map that Genevieve drew for him. The scrupulous detail she included was commendable.

Listening at the door before opening it proved there were no guards in the wide hallway outside. He crept down the hallway carefully, listening with every fibre of his being. He did not expect guards on this floor but complacency would not pay dividends.

The darkness echoed quiet back to Lorenzo as he tip-toed smoothly with the finesse of a cat.

At the end of the hallway, he had to turn left into the lobby on this floor. Apparently going up the wide sweeping staircase led to Gasparo's expansive apartment on the top two floors and to where Genevieve was living. Lorenzo paused in the shadows nearby, peering up into the light as muffled voices drifted down to him. Their footsteps told him that it was tiled up there. He could imagine the artisan furniture the curator would adorn his own home with. Windows ceiling to floor would open up to the canal. A full staff of servants, maids and butlers. Luxuries Genevieve hadn't had before. He was still infuriated that she rejected him on account of his wealth and yet somehow found it acceptable when marrying Gasparo. Incomprehensible.

Reminding himself that he was there to do a job, he focused his attention downstairs and waited listening. There was also light down the stairs to where he wanted to go. No voices came to him and there weren't any footfalls so he cautiously descended onto the lit landing.

This lavish floor appeared to be another residence. He would need to go down another two floors to reach the Gallery Offices. He descended again, swiftly, not wanting to linger longer than he needed to.

The Gallery Offices were shrouded in darkness. He listened to the darkness from the stairs and was rewarded with voices.

"...down to the markets tomorrow..." guards were a little far off but approaching from the left. Genevieve informed them that there weren't more than two to a patrol on unused floors and one on the residential floors. Lorenzo waited at the top of the stairs, ready to duck out of sight if required.

"... can't catch me!" yelled a child's voice from the floor he was on, way too close for comfort. The pattering of feet told Lorenzo the child was darting his way toward an escape route: the stairs.

There wasn't anywhere to hide. Lorenzo hesitantly descended, peering over the railing to see where the guards were. Below the railing, he could see the guards walking beside the staircase that led down to their floor. Seeing no other alternative, he swung himself over the railing, above their heads and clung to the top. His feet dangled and he looked down to see the guards still walking. The child's voice had grabbed their attention and they quickened their steps to reach the bottom of the stairs conveniently as the child arrived at the top.

"Ho there, Master Alfonso," one of the guards addressed the child from the foot of the staircase. Master Alfonso contemplated how to get down the staircase. Lorenzo dropped down as lightly as possible, landing on his feet and strolled in the direction that the guards had come from, down a darkened hallway. There was no reason for him to hurry, the distracted guards were expecting trouble from Master Alfonso, not an Assassin.

Calmly, he listened to the guards laugh as Alfonso was swept up by a cranky nanny. He let himself into the fourth office along. The guards were still laughing at the little boy's unfortunate capture.

This office belonged to Gasparo's right hand man who did a majority of behind the scenes at Cavazza's. Lorenzo peered around the unlit room, noting the expanse of the office that held a view on one side of the canal and of the building next door on the adjacent wall. Lounge chairs were arranged, facing each other in a businesslike manner in front of the dead fireplace. There was a wall of books, another wall of paintings and one large painting standing on its own upon an easel. At the other end of the room a grand writing desk stood sentry, with enough space for Lorenzo to take a comfortable nap on it if he so wished. Drawers lined the walls behind the desk.

Lorenzo got to work.

First, he pulled the curtains at all windows, preventing prying eyes. His reasoning was that to light a candle, the light needed to be shielded. He took his time, hoping no one was watching from other buildings across the way.

As he was pulling the last one shut, voices at the door caught his attention. "...here. Come here," begged a man.

"...really care..." came a woman's distorted reply. Lorenzo opened the window he was standing in front of cautiously and carefully stepped out onto the ledge in the cool night breeze. He left the window open so he could hear what was going on but was hopefully shielded from sight by the curtains.

"... on the most expensive lounge suite in this office," the man's voice became a whole lot clearer as the office door was opened and closed again. There was a woman's moan and a scuffling of shoes across the carpet.

"Did we have to come all the way here? On the floor would do fine," she protested quietly as she was dragged across the room.

"No!" came the man's breathless reply, "I want to have you on the lounge suite. On the desk, everywhere in here! Every time I am brought into here, I'll have a good memory of us in my boss' office..." Lorenzo cringed. This disgruntled employee clearly did not hold his boss in high regard or did not enjoy his work. "Don't break anything!" came his frantic follow up whisper as the sound of bodies landed on the leather. The hushed moaning began. Lorenzo sighed inwardly. He hoped they would be done shortly and begone quickly afterwards.


	49. Part 3 - Chapter 14

The canoodling man and woman in the very office that Lorenzo was infiltrating, much to Lorenzo's dismay, continued with their after-dark passtime. Their quietened moans, groans and sighs were many and Lorenzo could not think of a way to scare them off without giving away his position.

And he would not leave without the information he wanted. So he waited – hoping they would be quick.

They were not.

As soon as he thought they fell asleep, they would start again. In fact, the man's stamina would not be something to laugh at.

Lorenzo clung to the window ledge and looked around his position. Thankfully, he was on the building side and at such a late hour, there would unlikely be anyone peering out their windows to the building next door. It was darker than usual with the moon virtually invisible. Lorenzo prayed his black hood was enough to blend him in with his surroundings.

The man was not kidding when he said 'everywhere'. Their next chosen position was at the desk, then by the fireplace, against a window (thankfully, not Lorenzo's) as well as on the expensive rug.

Clinging to the window did not hurt his hands, he did not tire from standing up too long, even the few storey drop to the pavement did not bother Lorenzo. Rather, it was the thought that he might not get the opportunity to complete this mission with favourable results that played on his mind. Little did he want to admit it but Genevieve's words had cut him to the bone. In his quest to find her, he had not been instrumental at all in any mission on coming to Venice.

He would be damned if he wasn't going to be successful in this one. Firstly, he needed to pull his weight. Secondly, Genevieve's plan was sound in its creation and it would be a hard stretch to claim that it could not be implemented with a high success rate. If he returned with nothing was more a reflection of himself than her planning.

Lorenzo waited.

They finally quit the room and Lorenzo could continue with his search of the office. By then, it was nearly morning, judging by the glow on the horizon. Lorenzo needed to open the curtains to let in the light so he could see what he was doing.

Rummaging through the drawers took longer than he expected. He was pressing time now. Genevieve said that the office's owner would be back by about seven or eight in the morning. The sun rose and peered in through the curtains, illuminating different sections of the room in tandem.

He found it! The document he held in his hands was found in a folder and listed the next shipment of 'special' items from Trieste: stolen treasures from the Ottoman Empire across the Mediterranean. Templar Tokens were amongst the items listed, with details of all other items.

No information about what they were used for though. Lorenzo hoped that Ezio would find some evidence that enlightened them in that regard.

Lorenzo made a decision. He left the documents there instead of taking them with him. He committed to memory the timeframes of the shipment and replaced all the items back into the drawer in which he found them.

Voices outside the door told him that it was time to leave. He darted for a window and climbed out before closing it once again. Just in time.

A man entered, followed by three other men but Lorenzo couldn't hear their muffled voices. Hanging around didn't offer any advantages. The rooftops were still guarded and so Lorenzo picked his way down the side of the building. The sun had yet to reach this side of the building – he was cast in shadow.

But going down posed it's own problems. Guards supervised the entrance of the alleyway which led to the canal, a dead end. Lorenzo descended cautiously, avoiding the windows as much as possible. He needed to get around to the other side of the building which he knew was the edge of the Borgia Guards' patrolling area. The building immediately across from him also had Templar guards patrolling it and he assumed that it was included in the Templar's possession.

Hesitating on a ledge he observed for a few minutes. This alleyway was a service entrance for kitchen staff and servants. Carts lined the alleyway and servants buzzed in and out. From the maps he recalled at ground level, the service entrance directly below him led down a hallway that had multiple doors to the kitchens, linen press rooms and laundry. Further into the building was the entranceway, gallery and on the other side were the restrooms. To the rear were the conference and dining rooms, fronting onto the canal.

It was still early in the morning on a Monday. Lorenzo was willing to bet that the house staff were busy straightening rooms for the week ahead instead of rotating linen for beds and tables, which usually occurred towards the end of the week.

He timed his descent directly after he saw a servant enter back into the service-way and slipped in behind the retreating back. The linen press room was large and long and had multiple shelves full of a thousand different tablecloths, bed sheets, rugs, pillow cases, curtains, everything that could possibly fit inside the expansive building.

He'd been right: it was empty of staff. This gave him a shortcut past the staff busy in the kitchen for breakfast, into the middle of the building.

Also being a Monday, Genevieve said it was rare for people to be in the private Gallery so early. They were likely upstairs in the offices organising for the week ahead. So Lorenzo slipped through the Gallery, watching for guards at every corner and either backtracking or waiting for them to pass before continuing through the mazelike floor.

The tall walls, dotted with artwork in the process of being taken down or put up, offered some amount of cover for Lorenzo as he hid behind frames and scaffolding, waiting for guards to appear and disappear again.

"... do you think of this Vespari here?" Gasparo's voice came to him. It sounded as though he was in the next room. From Lorenzo's mental map, he could go all the way around, almost all the way to the conference rooms towards the canal and avoid Gasparo altogether.

"It's out of place," came Genevieve's voice, freezing Lorenzo in his place, "Isn't it?"

"You are right," Gasparo replied. Lorenzo inched toward the doorway and peered around the next room.

Great windows and candles lit the space. As with the rest of the Gallery, there were paintings on the wall. The two figures Lorenzo observed were standing close to each other, inspecting a particular painting on the opposite wall.

Genevieve wore a long simple dress of green, Gasparo dressed in the proper attire according to his high station. They both stood side-by-side, not touching, but upright and considering the painting on the wall in front of them. A candle on a tall candelabra guarded them with its warm glow.

"Can you tell me why?" Gasparo turned to her. Lorenzo's eyes burned.

"No, I can't tell. My eye is not as trained as your's."

"No, no, no, Vittoria," Gasparo criticised gently, "This is not you. You have been distracted of late." She made no reply. "Darling, tell me what is on your mind." His hand found her's. Lorenzo's hand burned.

"Luca, it's early. I didn't sleep well last night," Genevieve's tone was one of slight impatience but she turned a smile to Gasparo, "Do not worry for me."

"Ah but I do, all the time," Gasparo stepped to her and wrapped his arms around her. Lorenzo's arms burned. "I gave you the task of selecting a destination for our holiday after our marriage and you've yet to name a place."

"It has come up all too quickly, I was carried away with the Merchant Gallery Gala. Besides, you forget that I'm not used to such luxuries."

"I haven't forgotten. This is an opportunity for you to bask in such luxuries. We are to be married in a month..." Gasparo reminded her. _Too soon,_ thought Lorenzo. "... and preparations must be made."

"For the business?"

"For the holiday."

"And there I was, thinking you only looked forward to your business."

"No, that's you. And you don't need to worry. My business will be organised in time for the wedding and the holiday. There are other things to organise as well."

"What kind of things must you organise before we go?" she asked directly and with a charming smile. Gasparo slowly brought her fingers up to his lips. Lorenzo's face burned.

"The kind of things that aren't for the ears of prying women."

"What about for the ears of your ambitious future wife?" she asked. Gasparo sighed.

"In time, but not today," Gasparo stepped away from her, "I won't see you until tonight." She curtseyed to him, low, respectfully and Gasparo made an exit. After he left Genevieve eyed the painting and heaved her own sigh. She headed toward the staircase to make an exit.

Lorenzo boldly walked out into the room, across her path, before he could think about what he was doing. His whispering leathered feet drew her attention and she turned to see him.

A measure of shock passed over her face as she registered him there. It was quickly replaced with a stony stare. Whatever went through Lorenzo's mind to say to Genevieve was gone as he stood there glaring at her from under his hood.

She didn't divulge any of her thoughts. Merely beckoned to him with a hand and walked toward one of the tall windows. She opened it. The breeze caught her hair and the candles flickered with it. The window faced the side that Lorenzo needed to be on. She stood back and offered him the window. He slowly walked over to her and looked out the window himself. From there, he could climb down to the adjacent street and be lost within the people milling about in the piazza there.

Something made him look back to Genevieve. Misery underlined her fiery glare. She raised her chin and turned away, slowly crossing the Gallery once again, in her original direction. Her footsteps echoed lonely in the large room.

Lorenzo watched her halfway across the expansive room but didn't linger in the open. He stole through the window, his thoughts clouded and aggrieved.


	50. Part 3 - Chapter 15

"Hey! Get him!" came the all-too-familiar cry. Lorenzo had been stalking the marketplace for Verdi when he was spotted. Wanting to avoid a confrontation with the guards in a public place, Lorenzo ran. Luckily the marketplace was operating at a moderate capacity today: too many people made it difficult to cut through the crowd, too few people and Lorenzo could be easily tracked. He weaved in and out, pulling down stalls behind him to obscure the guards' progress.

But there were guards everywhere and as soon as he lost one pair, he gained two more pairs. Quickly, the odds were stacked against him as he cleared out of the marketplace with too much heat behind him. On the island of Venice, there were only a few directions to run in before being forced to turn into a circle. And circles meant eventual capture. Lorenzo felt the pressure to lose his tails. As soon as possible. He looked at the map in his mind's eye, looking for an opportunity to break line of sight and all but disappear.

He made a wrong turn down an alleyway and was cornered. Damn. He made to climb the wall but someone grabbed his leg. Dragged back down to street level, he felt their hands clutching him. Finally, he drew a dagger and swiped at the nearest guard who fell back in surprise.

Eight. Eight guards. Lorenzo counted quickly as he stood. The blood rushed to his hands as he eyed each with crystal clarity. They were afraid of him. And with good reason. He advanced on the nearest, drawing his sword to support the dagger. It would be close but Lorenzo got to work. He blocked a guard and stabbed with his dagger, watching him slide from his blade to the ground with a final gurgle.

An abrupt flash and involuntary cry at the back of the guards occurred on the periphery of Lorenzo's conscious as he dispatched the next guard. The unanticipated movement was too quick for him to register and there was too much to deal with before he could look properly. Two guards put up a brief fight before they too were felled with twin movements.

Five left. Lorenzo spun around on his feet, sword and dagger up, ready.

Or not.

The last guard standing was flipped to the ground and a blade bit into his neck, stifling any objection he might've had about his own death.

Genevieve untangled herself from him and stood observing the carnage with what Lorenzo perceived to be satisfaction. Both breathing hard, she turned to him dropped her hood revealing her mask. Double identity protection today. She was not taking any chances.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded and she shot him an impatient look.

"You're welcome."

"What are you doing here?"

"Same as you," she replied, "Only better because I wasn't seen!"

"Then you should've kept with your mission," he reprimanded as more guards rounded the corner and yelled out for reinforcements, "Now they are chasing both of us."

"And let them capture you? Then I'll need to rescue you and won't that be embarrassing for your ego?"

Lorenzo gritted his teeth at the flippant jab as guards poured into the small alleyway. They both grabbed the nearest hand-holds on the building next to them. Hand over foot they climbed, grabbing with their hands and pushing with their legs. Hearts pumping in their throats. Their pursuers chased them but were not as skilled climbing up walls as Lorenzo and Vieve.

Waiting at the top were a couple of guards, but they were dispatched easily with some throwing knives from Genevieve. They fell like trees in the woods as more shouts followed them. Vieve took off, leading him across the span of the rooves.

"Stop them!" voices yelled behind them. Lorenzo could not see an escape or a place to hide but he followed Vieve, unconsciously trusting her. The rooves were flat and bare. Perhaps remaining at ground level would've been the better option. No time to replay the last few minutes in his head, Lorenzo jumped with Vieve to the next roof.

"Do you have a plan?" he asked.

"When we hit the water, dive down. I'll guide us," she instructed him.

"When we what!?"

"Don't hesitate," she warned him, deadly serious, "Jump then big breath."

They approached the edge of the next roof with nowhere to go but into the canal. Far to the right, the sun glinted off the water. Stride for stride, Vieve and Lorenzo closed the gap quickly.

A whole multitude of thoughts went through Lorenzo's mind. How far down was the drop? Would there be a boat in the way? Would the impact hurt? What did Vieve have in mind?

Both of them reached the edge all too soon and pushed off.

Thankfully the canal was clear below them.

An eternity passed as the wind rushed upwards and they sliced through the air at an alarming pace. With Lorenzo's heart in his throat, he found it hard to breathe as the water raced to meet them.

Next to him Genevieve's focused eyes watched the water. Her hair flew straight up, her coattails folded up her back and her hands, up above her head waved in the wake of her freefall.

Six levels was not a height that Lorenzo baulked at. Not knowing what the landing would be like did frighten him.

He hoped Vieve knew what she was doing.

Their twin splashes, feet first, blocked all his senses immediately and he lost track of Vieve amongst the frazzled bubbles of the water. His head went under, obscuring his view.

Suddenly a hand reached his shoulder. It was dark under the water, he had no idea how she found him but she put both hands on him and tugged downwards. He followed, kicking strongly. He couldn't tell which direction they were going. Every movement was heavy and exaggerated as he moved. He lagged with the weight of his clothes. Vieve possessively grabbed a fistful of his shirt and dragged him as he tried to follow her. He couldn't make out any of the shapes under there. Vieve was a blurr somewhere next to him.

He prayed with his soul that she knew what she was doing.

Forever seemed to pass in the space of a few seconds as they descended into an even darker space. Lorenzo could see nothing and could only feel Vieve tugging on him.

His brain screamed at him. He didn't suck in enough air before hitting the water!

He would drown down here.

He clawed Vieve's hand urgently, making as much noise as he could.

This would be his death.

Lorenzo thrashed around, clawing for anything as Vieve abandoned her forward motion. Her fingers found him. Found his jaw. Found his nose and pinched it shut as he sensed her face somewhere close. He struggled against her but her lips found his and her tongue asked for entry.

Trusting her, he opened and she blew into his mouth hard! His chest expanded with more air! He ceased struggling but still wasn't totally at ease. Vieve took his hand and placed it on a wall not far from his shoulder and then grabbed his shirt at the collar again and tugged backward.

Replenished faith in her, he followed, kicking strongly again. She went with more urgency this time. Had he stolen all her air?

An eternity passed in that dark space, grasping along the wall with every scrap of hope he had left. Feeling Vieve next to him, her hand that clung to his shirt and refused to let go.

The air she had given him slowly choked him as he used it up and his brain screamed at him again. He let a little of it go and found that helped him briefly. For a few meters, this kept him going. But from far off, the keening sound of silence deafened him. Panicked, he reached for Vieve again.

He opened his mouth but sucked water into his lungs and choked. Coughing brought more water into his lungs. His body convulsed involuntarily in the deep quiet.

Another hand felt for him as he blinked away his last consciousness. There was tugging but it fell away from him. He moved from darkness into stark nothingness.

He effortlessly floated and looked around. Vieve was there sitting with a figure in her arms, a profound sadness in her face. It was a desperate despair such that he had never seen before. Her sobs shook her shoulders silently as she gazed down at the faceless figure, cradled in her arms. Lorenzo's arms ached with the familiar pain that he come to associate with wanting to hold Genevieve. A feeling he had sadly been able to suppress until now.

Her face, stricken with silent crying, turned upwards helplessly. Her eyes had no time to blink the tears out before they charged down her face.

There she sat as Lorenzo stared, aching for her, unable to move.

Her sadness did not linger. Angry and pained, her face turned back down to her lap and fists clenched hard enough for her strong tanned knuckles to whiten.


	51. Part 3 - Chapter 16

Something pounded in the cavity of his chest.

Heavy thumps that reverberated throughout his mind.

He choked on something. Turning his head, he vomited water.

Blinking light from his eyes, he registered a ceiling covered in the glowing pattern of water's reflection. He coughed and spluttered. Vieve's tear streaked face filled his view.

"Oh!" she sobbed.

His breathing came fast as he recalled they had swum underwater for an impossible amount of time. Confusion clouded his mind. He sat up and leaned against the wall, feeling wet and heavy. Groaning in relief he checked himself over, grateful to be alive. His clothes were soaked and his fingers were slippery. Lorenzo threaded them through his sodden hair. Cold droplets dripped down the back of his neck. Drawing an involuntary shiver from him.

Genevieve sat across from him, a hand covering her mouth, eyes wide in shock. Short breaths. Shaking. Everything on her shook. Her wet hair shook around her face, the water droplets shook off her nose and knuckles. She looked as though she had seen a ghost.

"Genevieve," he sighed, coughing, "You'll be the death of me."

She made no reply as she shot over to him and wrapped her arms around his middle, leaning on him fully, burying her head into his neck. Her arms held onto him tight, tight enough to cause discomfort, tight enough to break ribs, but she trembled. Was she crying? There was too much water everywhere to tell.

Despite nearly drowning, he was touched by the violently affectionate hug Genevieve gave him. He wrapped his own arms around her and held on to her, resting his hot cheek on her cold head. He could feel her draw short breaths against him and focused on steadying his own breathing.

After a while, Genevieve calmed enough to stop trembling and her breathing returned to normal. She became uncomfortably hot against him but he didn't want to move. Lorenzo chuckled.

"Why are you laughing? I nearly killed you," she whispered.

"Because I was convinced you didn't care for me," he told her, "Now I know it's quite the opposite." She didn't see the funny perspective. Maybe she would one day in their future.

"I thought you'd gone forever. I missed you," Vieve admitted as she sat up to see him. Her eyes were red but she tried to smile. It took some effort and faded quickly. Lorenzo hadn't ever been missed so immediately or so acutely before. All the feelings he had shoved deep came bursting to the surface.

"Me too," Lorenzo told her gently, "I'm sorry I was unreasonably angry with you," he proffered quickly when she withdrew.

"Neither of us is without fault. I'm sorry I lied and I'm sorry I judged you."

She looked at him and with the shyest smile, leaned over to kiss him a though she were kissing a delicate flower. For now, nothing could've made the moment any better.

"We should go," she told him, pulling away with a sigh, "Catch our death from being wet." With the retreating danger, she refocused back on their situation.

"No, just a while longer," he implored, gently pulling her back.

"No, we have work to do," she laughed, pushing his wanting hands away and getting to her feet. She held out a hand, "There will be time for us."

"Time will give us nothing," Lorenzo deliberated, accepting her help to stand and stepping to her lustily, "Why not take advantage of this opportunity?"

"Renzo," she half-laughed, half-sighed, and his heart smiled, "You nearly died. Guards have probably stopped looking for us. I hope they didn't see my face. If we don't get dry soon, we'll die of exposure. Ezio might need us. We must go."

Lorenzo relented, but not without issuing some weak arguments, and found himself following the only thing that mattered to him once again. Not for the first time. Not for the last time.

When they got back to Ezio, he agitatedly told them that they must take the shipment and quickly formulated a plan.


	52. Part 3 - Chapter 17

They followed from a safe distance until the carriage had cleared the city limits and entered suburbia. Vieve was a picture of poise and finesse on the back of her chestnut mare. She had always been effortless in the saddle and her focus made her alluring. She wore the same attire she had the night she nearly chopped off his finger. Noticing him noticing her, she gave him a questioning look. Wondered if he had something to say. He lightly shook his head and sternly reminded himself that he had a job to do.

The plan was a simple one. With the two of them, it would be effectuated easily.

The road was filled with people heading in all directions and progress was slow. There were various modes of transport being used: foot, horseback and carriages of all sizes from two wheeled gigs to four wheeled flatbeds used for stock. All manner of people used the road too, women in pairs and groups, men in pairs or groups, men driving or riding.

They had decided to wait for the road to clear, which meant following the carriage until they had nearly left suburbia. There were still structures dotted along the road as it thinned out to a countryside path but not so many people.

Vieve tightened her grip on the reins and gave him a meaningful look. He nodded and they both spurred their horses into a gallop.

Hooves thundered underneath Lorenzo as he pulled ahead. He could hear his horse sucking in huge gulps of air as her legs pumped. She was a light stepping mount, ears forward, loving the race with Vieve's chestnut gelding. He forced himself to look ahead to the carriage. They closed in quickly but the driver had spotted them and whipped his horses into a canter.

The carriage surged ahead sounding like a storm as it passed. Spectators watched on with interest as Lorenzo and Vieve gained ground. It wasn't long before the gap closed and Lorenzo could reach the back frame of the carriage that carried trunks as well as two extra passengers on top. Urging his horse onwards, he brought his legs up to squat in the saddle and launched himself across to the carriage, grabbing onto the frame. His hand connected and he clattered against the back of the carriage as a man attempted to swipe a sword at him from the doorway.

Swinging himself to the back of the carriage, he clamoured up and over the extra seats to meet the driver's offsider on the top of the carriage. He was ill-equipped for the situation as he wobbled against the jerky movements of the racing carriage beneath him. Lorenzo saw this and quickly dispatched of the man's sword in one movement. He managed to throw this offender over the side of the carriage.

Luckily, Vieve's horse saw him coming and managed to jump the unfortunate man in time. Vieve pressed on, catching up quickly as Lorenzo met another assailant who had climbed to the roof from inside the carriage. With surer footing, this man also swiped at Lorenzo with a knife, who dodged, weaved then intercepted it, spinning the opposite way to bury the knife in the wielder's belly. Withdrawing the knife he tossed the man overboard too, this time a bit more conscious of which side he should do this on. Vieve attempted to board the carriage herself.

The next man on Lorenzo's list was the driver. Who was frantically attempting to guide the carriage as he glanced back to see if his friends had stopped their attacker. Using the knife he so recently acquired, he jabbed it into the man's throat and pushed him from his seat. Lorenzo didn't think about what it would've felt like to hit the ground from a runaway carriage. By now, the horses were blindly bolting, the carriage out of control, and the reins had slipped from his reach. The corner of his eye caught sight of Vieve on the opposite side, she had abandoned her leap onto the carriage and was leaning over the chestnuts neck, fully stretched out, racing the pair of horses that pulled the carriage. He thought he could see her lips whispering as she passed, eyes focused forward at a spot ahead of the bolting horses along the road. She pulled in line with the carriage horses, then pulled ahead swiftly.

Lorenzo looked up to understand why.

A boy was in the middle of the road ahead! He was playing with a ball and had his back to the out-of-control carriage.

Frantically, Lorenzo reach for the reins and pulled on them to make contact with the horses but there was too much slack! His eye on Vieve saw her switch her position in her saddle in slow motion and she pounced on the boy, leaping from her saddle onto him. They rolled away to the left as the carriage horses galloped upon them, obscuring Lorenzo's view.

Heart in his throat, he looked down and around to see if they had made it, only to connect his jaw with a fist from a shadow looming over him. Knocked forward, his face ached as he regained his balance to face the man who grabbed him and pulled him back up to the roof of the carriage. How many men were on this carriage!?

Temporarily stunned, physically and emotionally, he took the hits he was assailed with dumbly before his training reminded him to block the next punch coming his way. His assailant was smarter though. He backed off and waited for Lorenzo to make the next move. Wiping blood from his mouth, Lorenzo came at him and they exchanged punches and blocks. This opponent was worthy as he landed a punch which Lorenzo took then countered with a kick. It took a few more hits before Lorenzo twisted him over his shoulder and leaned down to sink his Assassin's blade into his neck.

A final shadow loomed over him and he quickly spun to release a flurry of punches and hits only for them to be blocked and laughed at.

The face of his last opponent was grazed totally on one side of her cheek but there stood Vieve, grinning like a Cheshire cat and missing her cloak. Her clothes were dusty and she sported more grazing along the upper arm of the hand that held Lorenzo's fist tight.

Lorenzo could only stare at her exhilarated beauty. She was almost too much to witness. Her eyes glinted like the sun. Then they glanced past him and her grinning face ran away as she pushed past Lorenzo.

Without a second thought, she leapt onto the back of the carriage horses and leaned forward as far as she could to pull on the reins.

They were headed for a bend in the road that they couldn't take at the pace at which they were going. With a few quick movements, she passed the reins back to Lorenzo who pulled until there was no slack. Then he pulled as hard as he dared on the horse's mouths.

Thankfully, the pair slowed to a respectable speed and Vieve managed to grab Lorenzo's hand back to safety.

She sat next to him, chuckling to herself as the town disappeared behind them and they aimed the carriage to a less known road. She chattered excitedly to him about how her cloak had somehow got tangled with the wheels and dragged her along until she could pull herself back up onto the carriage, "Otherwise, you would've been on your own."

Lorenzo gently thumbed her chin toward him so he could inspect the nasty graze on her face. Her lovely brown eyes sparkled as they inspected him in return.

"That's going to hurt in the morning. I'll clean it when we get there," he told her, with some amusement at her flushed, excited face. So much could've gone wrong.

She got up and manoeuvred her way inside the carriage, returning after a few minutes, "It's all there," she reported, dusting herself off, "And look what I found!" she held up a bow and quiver triumphantly. Lorenzo racked his brain for a reason that the weapon brought so much joy to her but couldn't come up with anything. She seemed more excited about it than the fact that they had stolen significant artefacts from the Templars, which was going to set them back in their plans due to the value of the goods inside the carriage.

"What's it for?" he asked.

"If I get a chance, I'll show you," Vieve nocked an arrow and settled in her seat, eyes forward.

For a time, they sat in silence. Lorenzo wanted to tell her a million things. Wanted to hear her tell him a million things. But they were yet to bridge the gap between them. He thought back to the time he met her and replayed everything he could remember until he realised that they now possessed the time to talk. He was done with waiting.

"You've yet to tell me what happened that night at the castle," Lorenzo murmured. Vieve sighed, her focus on the road faltered as she considered her response.

"After I left you, I was ambushed. I used the scimitar you gave me to kill one of them but they overcame me and tied me to a post in the stables. They lit the stables on fire. I escaped. It's a long time ago now."

"Why didn't you come to find me?"

"I escaped, Renzo, but not unscathed. The men had beat me up and my arm was burned quite badly. I could barely stand!" her voice pitched higher in her defence before she cleared her throat and forcefully calmed herself, "And… I was frightened Fiero would find me before I found you."

"Why did he want you dead?" Lorenzo wondered. Now, the expression she turned to him was of utter despondency.

"After I tell you, you might not trust me quite so easily…again," she dejectedly supposed, "But I should tell you. I should've told you a long time ago." Lorenzo let the weight of these words sink into his brain. All kinds of fears rose from the pit of his belly.

"What is it?" he prompted gently. Knowing would trump not knowing, every single time. So no matter how awful the news was that she had to tell Lorenzo, he would rather know its horrible details than live in ignorance of them.

She looked out across the meadow, as though if she had a pair of wings, she'd fly out there and away from the cage on her soul. She grinned unexpectedly. It was a manic grin and she tossed her head back and let out one 'ha' to the heavens.

"The irony of it all will strike you silly," she said, closing her eyes and shaking her head. Lorenzo waited with bated breath. "You didn't know this and I didn't know you were looking for them," she sighed, "But I had three Templar Tokens when I came to the castle."

Lorenzo blinked at her uncomprehendingly.

"Three of them!? How?" Lorenzo stammered, "The guards searched you."

"I was wearing them, sewed into my jacket," she stated proudly, "I thought it was clever." Lorenzo silently agreed but kept his face unimpressed. "The story starts before that though. Fiero has been lying to you for a very long time..." Lorenzo listened in disbelief as she told them about Fiero's odd behaviour, how he gave her the tokens and how she felt obligated to honour her promises. The Templar's had nearly caught her and she had to flee. The cart ride was the same as she had explained to Lorenzo the first time.

"Why didn't you tell me about the tokens?"

"You never asked. And, how would I bring them up without appearing to be some imposter? You had no idea what to do with me and if I revealed them. You certainly would not have let me train. I assume that it wasn't until recently that you thought I was a Templar and the only way to change that was to help you," Lorenzo nodded as she continued after heaving a huge sigh, "Fiero stole the Tokens. I guess he has progressed from thievery to become a partner to the Templars now. God knows why. Perhaps the Templars made a better proposition to him than the Brotherhood could ever make."

Lorenzo thought hard about this. Fiero's discordant behaviour not long before the tournament had increased exponentially, signalling he was discontent about something. No one could've guessed Fiero would defect. "You should've told me," he muttered.

"I knew a lot of things before you did," Vieve commented suddenly and stammered and slipped in and out of a dialect he hadn't heard before now, "I knew. I knew a long time before you did… I knew not long before the tournament. Not long before you came to find me that day. I don't know if you remember it. If I had allowed you to initiate a relationship before the end of the tournament, then I would have lost the respect of everyone at the castle. So I had to waylay you."

Lorenzo didn't meet her eyes this time but nodded. He understood that now. Hindsight gave him a clear view of her reasons.

"I couldn't let any romantic capacity get in my way. My goal is to become an Assassin. On my terms. In my own right."

"I understand that perfectly, Vieve," Lorenzo countered gently, "I haven't stopped you from doing anything less than what you want. What I don't know is where I fit into your life, if at all."

Vieve fell silent. They both watched the road and swayed with the cart as they trundled along. Lorenzo wished she would continue to speak her mind as she had been. Wished he could broach the subject of her marriage to Gasparo. Wished he could tell her how much he didn't want her to go back to Venice. Vieve was playing a dangerous game with the Templars. And it would only get worse.

A rabbit darted out from the side of the road in front of the horses easy walking gait. In a fluid movement, Vieve stood, drew the arrow, aimed and shot it before it made it to the other side of the road. A clean shot through the head.

Vieve's triumphant grin was back as she leapt from the cart to retrieve it. Lorenzo shook his head and he pulled the cart up to wait for her to skin and gut the tiny creature. She hung it at the back of the cart and pulled herself up next to him again.

"When is food not on your mind?" he asked in amusement.

"When I know where my next meal is." Lorenzo considered this with a heavy heart.

"You haven't had an easy life," he observed quietly. Vieve refused to meet his eyes.

"It feels good to be doing something with my hands," she faintly explained, unnecessarily, "I have so many comforts in Venice that I hardly know what to do with myself most of the time." She didn't say that Gasparo provided these comforts for her. She didn't have to. Lorenzo read between the lines.

"I was a blacksmith," he told her. She turned disbelieving eyes toward him. "I was young when I had to become a blacksmith. Everything starts early when you're an orphan. Life bites harder, sooner." If Lorenzo could have da Vinci paint Vieve's face, it would be of her bewilderment in that moment. Then he could show it to her to remind her of her preconceptions. He told her this. Veive blushed and adverted her eyes.

"Have I not already apologised for my hasty judgement?"

"Yes you have," Lorenzo laughed and reached over to squeeze her hand to show her that he was joking. She smiled and gathered her confidence again.

"So how does an orphan blacksmith come to own a bank?"

"A rich man passing through the town needed new shoes for his carriage horses. He was in a rush and was paying well. My boss gave me nothing for the job I did. He only paid me every third day I worked. The rich man left and I fought with my boss. He fired me. So I took a shortcut out of town, held up the carriage and got the rich man to get out. I stole the carriage, left him there to walk back to town and rode off with his horses, his carriage, his clothes and a small portion of his fortune. From there, I promised myself I would never be poor again and used his money wisely. I never returned to that town."

Genevieve shook her head. "You don't look like a thief."

"A thief is not one who steals, but one who is caught."

He gave her a smile and refocused back on the road.

"Why didn't you say you were an orphan to begin with just now? You said you were a blacksmith, then an orphan. Is that the order or was it the other way around?"

"I don't know," he said, then confessed, "I've never told anyone before."

They rode the rest of the way companionably. Vieve managed to shoot another rabbit between revealing select portions of her past. Lorenzo listened, content knowing the bridge was long behind them.


	53. Part 3 - Chapter 18

When they reached the shack, Ezio came out to greet them. Genevieve busied herself with the horses as he and Lorenzo inspected the loot.

"Oh, you've got food!" Ezio exclaimed in relief, when he saw, "I didn't have time to find anything for us. It was going to be a long night without food." Lorenzo shared a look with Genevieve who shrugged as she unhitched one horse. "How did it go?" Ezio asked.

"It went without a hiccup," Lorenzo replied, "All the guards were dispatched. They won't know until tonight that anything has gone astray."

"Tomorrow, we must move on from here, in case they send a scout to see what has happened. A single rider is faster than a carriage."

"Speaking of which," Genevieve called, "I'm leaving early tomorrow. I'll need your horse Ezio. I have to be back in Venice before any suspicions are raised." She didn't say she would be back in Venice in time for her wedding – the day after tomorrow. That was why she was going back in a hurry.

"What happened to your face?" Ezio asked her.

"It met the ground briefly," she replied simply, then took the rabbit and fox around the back of the shack where there was a garden.

Ezio and Lorenzo stood out the front speaking for a little while. Ezio wanted a blow-by-blow recount of the days events, so Lorenzo humoured his friend.

Eventually the two men followed Vieve in after drawing some water. The shack was a small one room shanty, barely big enough for three people. There was a hearth, a table with chairs, a bed and makeshift cot. It reminded Lorenzo of the first place he had stopped at when he stole the carriage laden with his future. A kind old man shared his food and his thoughts on the next town with Lorenzo when he turned up, seeking refuge. The old man didn't ask questions, didn't want to know where he was from or where he was going. He was a simple farmer and cared not for the grand carriage nor the reason a mere boy commandeered it.

Ezio returned to his work – sitting at another table in the corner under the window, writing a letter with fever. He reported their success to the Master in a secret code used by the elite of the Assassins.

Genevieve was busy – as usual. She blew life into a fire and set about putting herbs and vegetables she found in the overgrown garden in a large pot. Her weapons hung behind the chairs next to the table and she was using one of her throwing knifes to cut and quarter the meat into sections that would fit.

Lorenzo brought a bowl filled with water and placed it on the table next to her. Noting him with a glance, she murmured, "Let me put this on first, it'll take a while to cook."

"Can I help?" he asked. She paused to regard him with an interested look.

"No. Thank you. I'm nearly done." Genevieve bustled around for a few more minutes before Lorenzo instructed her to sit on the table to steady her and give her some height for him to work from.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Renzo," she said before flinching as he pressed a soaked rag to her face. He needed to soften the dried blood first before he could clean the graze. Sometimes he pressed his other hand against the opposite cheek and sometimes, he held her chin pinched between his thumb and the side of his forefinger. He stood offset to her as her feet dangled underneath the table. She swung her legs to begin with but overcame the fidgeting by crossing them. They became still.

Lorenzo focused on the graze and on the graze only. He already told her his mind on the carriage ride – showed his cards for her to see, it was her turn now – so he didn't talk as he cleaned away the blood and dust from her cheek. Acutely aware that Genevieve's darkling eyes did not leave his face the entire time. He heard the gears in her brain working, knew she was deciding something. He wanted to put her at ease but now was a time for him to be quiet. Genevieve would tell him her piece, when she was ready.

And if it wasn't tonight – then he would wait. Forever, if necessary.

He was nearly done when the inside of Genevieve's foot reached around the outside of his leg. Lorenzo froze as she applied some pressure until finally he shifted. She guided him to stand right in front of her.

Genevieve breathed faster as her fingers found his chest and snaked their way up to pull him down for a lusty kiss. Caught, Lorenzo helplessly obliged, wanting her hands on him everywhere, coursing lightning through his body. She opened up, hooking her legs around him and pulling him to her roughly. Heart in throat, Lorenzo could feel where this was going as he pressed against her. His fingers trailed her back as he leaned into her, listening to her draw short breaths, but he reined in his excitement.

"Sure you want this?" he breathed, seeking her eyes with his. She nodded, her fingers gripping his shirt, her legs firm around him. "Hold on."

Lorenzo peeled himself from her and looked around to Ezio, who could have seen or heard them but did not appear any wiser.

"Ezio," he cleared his throat and lowered his voice as he approached. Ezio glanced up at him distractedly. "Ezio… give us some privacy please." Then, Ezio gave him his full attention and scrambled to stand up. He was not impressed.

"Lorenzo!" Ezio hissed, "Control yourself! This isn't…"

"Ezio," Lorenzo replied, "Could you control yourself when you met Sofia?"

"I courted her publicly for six entire months! This is not the same!"

"I won't beg you, Ezio," Lorenzo warned.

"It's cold and I don't see why I should leave! You want to cavort with Genevieve, find your own space!"

"It's okay Renzo," Genevieve's voice cut through their heckling clearly and both men turned to her. She stood in the firelight, tall, confident and totally naked. Every fibre of Lorenzo ached as his eyes slid over Vieve's every curve. Her lithe figure was small but strong and her hair fell to her slender shoulders. "Ezio can watch," she raised her chin defiantly as they stared at her. She, however, dared Ezio with her eyes, forcing him to concede.

"Half an hour," he muttered as he scooped up a cloak and stormed out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Vieve shivered as the cold gust from outside chilled her and she turned back to Lorenzo, whose attention she owned. She stepped shyly toward him.

"Was that too much?"

"No. Not too much at all," Lorenzo replied distractedly, "It's a far better plan that what I had."

"What was your plan?" she reached up and slid her fingers underneath his shirt. He drew a sharp intake of air.

"I was going to drag him out the door and lock him out," he replied, pulling her to him, "This is much better."

The familiar dull ache that he had buried deep for half a year, came bursting to the surface with a vengeance as she kissed him. His arms automatically enveloped her and she melted into him.

Vieve had been passionate before, in their embrace at the castle, but this time, she was unhinged. Her fingers roamed down his chest and over his belly, feeling his muscles and sending fire signals to Lorenzo's brain, hijacking his thoughts. She pressed herself against him wantonly as her lips commanded his.

"Take off your shirt," her lips demanded breathlessly, breaking the kiss and withdrawing her hands from him. Far be it for him to protest, Lorenzo did as she bid.

Lorenzo was reminded of the day he had to untie her from the bed and how her breasts had been flecked with blood. They were even lovelier now. She stood there with her chin up in defiance looking straight at him with her darkling eyes. He was glad, the shame she had experienced that day so long ago was not her doing. He pushed his thoughts back to the present.

Lorenzo said nothing as he stepped toward her again and drew her to him. This time, her breasts brushed against his bare torso, soft and supple. Her skin broke out in goosebumps as he kissed her shoulders and her neck, running fingers through her hair. Her panting was hot in his ear as her hands wrapped around his back. Thrillingly encouraging him.


End file.
